Monsal Trail and Dove Dale

Headstone Tunnel

I’ve always considered the view from Monsal Head of the Headstone Viaduct to be one of the iconic scenes in the Peak District. Since the days when I was a regular visitor to the area, the old railway line has been converted into a walking and cycling track, a fact which Andy alerted me to on his blog.
We’d brought the DBs bikes with us, and hired bikes at Hassop Station for TBH and myself. I remember that my bike was a Raleigh, but not which model, which is a shame, because it was very comfortable and a pleasure to ride.

Headstone Tunnel

Hassop is near, but not at, one end of the line. We set-off west to tackle the larger portion of the trail first. There are six tunnels on the route and I seem to have taken photos either of, or in, most of them. I’m not sure why I was so chuffed to be cycling through tunnels, perhaps because I’m still essentially a big kid at heart.

View from the Headstone Viaduct.

View the other way from the Headstone Viaduct.

Cressbrook Mill.

Gorge-ous scenery.

One of the dales.

The trail generally follows the valley of the River Wye, but, confusingly, the name of the dale changes along its length: Monsal Dale, Water-cum-Jolly Dale, Millers Dale, Chee Dale, Wye Dale. It’s hard to know where the transitions occur and also hard to remember where each of the photos was taken, so I can’t say which dale each one shows!

Happy bikers.

Looking down on the road.

Two viaducts near Miller’s Dale Station.

Miller’s Dale Station.

The cafe at Millers Dale station was popular and we probably should have got some lunch there. Little S did get an ice-cream, which for some reason seems to have caused some consternation on his part…

Little S with a suspicious ice-cream.

Huge limekiln.

Possibly the last of the tunnels.

End of the line.

We’d been planning to eat at the cafe at Blackwell Mill, at the western end of the trail, but didn’t, I think it was closed. Either that, or it didn’t have any vegan options, I can’t remember.

Chee Dale.

I’d chosen to start near the Bakewell end because I’d read online that it would be uphill from there. It must be a very gentle gradient: it hadn’t seemed uphill, but now that we turned around, the difference was really obvious and going the other way was much faster and could be free-wheeled.

Chee Dale from the little spur.

I had noticed a short spur here coming post and took a detour now to have a nose. It was well worth it for the view.

Free-wheeling.

One of the Dales!

Back at Hassop station we had a very late lunch in the excellent cafe there, which is highly recommended.

We were running short of time on our bike rentals, so I asked in the shop whether we were okay to cycle to the other end of the line near Bakewell. I was told that it was fine, so long as we were back before closing, but that the return part was uphill and that many people found it challenging.

The other end of the line.

Bakewell Station.

Hassop Station.

Actually, it was fine and I’m pleased that we managed to fit in the entire route. I was hoping for a view over Bakewell, but whilst we did get some, they were partial and didn’t yield very good photos.
The whole trail is 8½ miles, so there and back is only 17, not a very long cycle ride I know, but immensely enjoyable and pretty much flat which is a big selling point as far as I’m concerned.

Dove Dale.

From my childhood visits to the Peak District I think three memories stand out: the show caves around Castleton; steaming, overheated cars pulled over on the roadside up Winnats Pass; and the stepping stones and rock scenery of Dove Dale. Since Dove Dale wasn’t far from where we staying, I was determined to fit in a visit whilst we were there and although it was late in the day, we managed to get into the National Trust car park before the entrance was closed for the evening.

River Dove.

Even though it was early evening, the area around the stepping stones was still very busy, with lots of large family groups enjoying picnics.
We didn’t have to go far though before it became much quieter.

The Twelve Apostles, well some of them.

I remember, on those early visits, being awed by the natural rock arch above the path, and that it was close to Reynard’s Cave, but I don’t think we ever climbed up to the arch or the cave.

Natural Arch.

Judging by the heavily eroded path, that’s now a very popular activity. It’s pretty steep, more so than this photo suggests.

And from above.

And from Reynard’s Cave.

TBH in Reynard’s Cave.

Like Thor’s Cave, there’s archeological evidence showing that Reynard’s Cave was occupied, at least sporadically, during the Neolithic through to the Medieval period.

Another cave.

We found another, smaller cave just around the corner from Reynard’s and then an alternative route back to the river which was a little less steep.

Descending from Reynard’s Cave.

Before heading for home we walked a little further upstream so that the DBs could investigate this rather wet cave which had a stream flowing out of it…

Another cave down by the river.

The famous stepping stones.

And finally, on the path back to the car park, a couple of interesting insect encounters…

Lesser Stag Beetle (I think).

A White Ermine Moth Caterpillar (I think).

This was the last full day of our flying visit to the Midlands. Our trip was short, but packed with interest and I hope it’s not too long before we’re back in the area.

White Peak – a Trip to Buxton.

A Very Full Day.

TBH and the DBs in Poole’s Cavern.

When I was a nipper, trips to the limestone caverns around Castleton where a regular treat, at least that’s how I remember it and we certainly visited all of the show caves in that area. But I don’t think we ever visited Poole’s Cavern near Buxton. So, we’d booked online the night before to put that right. Driving up, Google maps took us on a high level route, coming into Buxton from Axe Edge Moor, which I very much enjoyed because of the fantastic views.

One of the resident Buzzards near our accommodation.

Actually, I’m getting ahead of myself. There were a pair of Buzzards evidently resident in the trees near to our rental property and I took every opportunity to try to get photos of them. Here’s one I took whilst I was waiting for everybody to be ready to set off for Buxton.

Flowstone features Poole cavern.

I thoroughly enjoyed Poole’s Cavern. There was an interesting little museum in the visitor’s centre too. Apparently there’s evidence that the cave was occupied from the Bronze Age onwards. One of the occupants was an outlaw called Poole, hence the name.

Flowstone features Poole cavern.

The large and broken stalactite in the centre is called The Flitch of Bacon. I was more impressed with the pools in the flowstone beneath.

An abundance of stalagmites and stalactites.

Quarrying in the hillside above the cavern has caused the stalactites and stalagmites to grow at an increased rate. Research is ongoing into this accelerated growth.

Stalagmites and stalactites

Poached Egg Stalagmites.

More flowstone features.

And more (or a backdrop from a scene in Alien?)

And more.

Flowstone coated boulder at the furthest point of the tour.

Seasoned cavers have apparently been working for years to dig a way through the stonefall at the end of the passage to find a way through to potential caverns beyond. It sounds like a dangerous and thankless task.

Poole’s Cavern is part of Buxton Country Park. There’s a Go Ape there too, and so I booked the DBs in for an afternoon session, we lunched at the cafe in the visitor centre, and then while the boys were doing their Tarzan thing, TBH and I went for a wander through Grin Low Woods and up to the top of the hill, where there’s a folly and a fine view over Buxton.

Grin Low.

Grinlow Tower (Solomon’s Temple).

Grinlow Tower was apparently commissioned by the splendidly named Solomon Mycock to provide work for the unemployed in the town.

Buxton from the top of the tower.

Looking towards Axe Edge Moor.

Back in 1983, my dad, his friend John and myself completed a challenge event called the Bullocky Smithy Hike. It’s an annual thing, still running if you fancy a go, organised by Hazel Grove Scouts. It’s advertised as 56 miles, but whilst there are checkpoints there’s no fixed route. We did a bit of road walking to avoid stumbling down Miller’s Dale in the dark, so I’ve always claimed that we walked 60. To be honest, it’s mainly the checkpoints (and the pain in my left knee for the last few miles) which I remember. At the checkpoints volunteers offered friendly encouragement, lavish quantities of food, hot sweet tea and (I think) treatment for blisters and muscle aches. I think we crossed Axe Edge Moor at about three in the morning. I was exhausted and very, very cold at this point. The checkpoint was in a barn close to the Cat and Fiddle Pub, I think, and the warmth and the tea and soup on offer, cheered me up no end.
A couple of years later, in my first year at University, a fellow resident of the tiny Halls I lived in, an ultra-runner, won the event in a ridiculous, record time of around 9 hours. We took 22 I think. I don’t think I’d even realised it was a race.
There’s a fuller, more detailed, account of a more recent completion here, which I enjoyed reading.

We took a different route down through the woods and found lots of heavily laden raspberry canes.

Sculpture of a Lime Burner, Grin Low Woods.

Although tucking into the raspberries slowed us down somewhat, we still had time to kill before the DBs were done swinging through the trees, so we had a wander down into Buxton.

Boating Lake, Pavilion Gardens.

Buxton Pavilion.

Back in University Hiking Club days I think we held at least one post-hike Meal and Barn Dance (we’d call it a Ceilidh these days I suspect) in Buxton, I think in the Pavilion, although I could easily be wrong. I also ran the Buxton half-marathon years ago, a very hilly affair with a brutal first few miles up on to Axe Edge Moor. Anyway, it’s a handsome spa town and a lovely place to visit, so I was glad to be back.

Buxton Pavilion.

Pavilion Tea Rooms.

Pavilion Interior.

Buxton Opera House.

London Transport Bus – a bit lost?

Buxton Crescent

Grove Hotel.

Cafe at the Green Pavilion.

We popped into the Cafe at the Green Pavilion for a drink. It was hot by now, so I settled on a locally brewed beer. Very nice too. The menu looked enticing, so we were disappointed that the staff were in the process of closing up, and we couldn’t come back for tea. In fact, I can’t remember what we did by way of an evening meal – maybe this was the night we had late fish and chips from the chippy on the Market Square in Ashbourne? Also very nice.

War Memorial.

There were a group filming by the War Memorial, but whether film or TV, drama or documentary, I’ve no idea.

The Crescent and the Pump Room Roof.

I did dip into the Pump Room, now a visitor centre and cafe, but my photos of the interior are not very impressive.

Danebower Colliery Ventilation Chimney.

We weren’t done yet. I’d taken a leaf out of Andy’s book and been scouring satellite images looking for a suitable layby to give us access to the River Dane, because I’d also been scouring the internet for wild-swimming spots in the Peak District. There don’t seem to be many likely venues.

River Dane

Which probably explains why, even though it was getting quite late, the pools at Three Shires Head were very busy. It’s nice to see people enjoying the outdoors, but, as much as I enjoy loud music, in the right circumstances, I prefer it when other people don’t subject me to their execrable taste in modern pop. (Heh, heh, I sound like my dad: ‘It just goes thump, thump, thump’).
In fact, the pools are not ideal for swimming. Well, you can manage a couple of strokes in the pool on the left in the photo below, but neither is very deep.

Three Shires Head.

We consoled ourselves by ducking under each of the waterfalls, a bracing experience, which seemed to start a bit of a trend.

It’s a long time since I last visited Three Shires Head and I was trying to remember whether the paths were as eroded then as they are now. I remember it as quite an isolated, quiet spot, although, since it’s not far from a major road, I suppose that I might be guilty of looking back through rose-tinted spectacles.

Advancing shadows. The Roaches on the skyline.

All-in-all, a really enjoyable day. And, Grin Low, which was new to me, might be one for our forthcoming book ‘Small Hills with Disproportionately Good Views’. Talking of which, we have a competitor…

Our idea made flesh!

I saw this in Waterstones in Lancaster and then, fortuitously, also found it in the Oxfam bookshop, so I now have a copy. Some of our favourites are in there, but many are not, so we may be in the clear. Phew! Unless Phoebe Smith has a volume two on the way? Oh no!

White Peak: Ashbourne and Thor’s Cave

Market Place Ashbourne.

After our epic US trip last summer, this summer, for various reasons, we had no firm plans for a holiday, but were planning to get a late booking and go to the Isle of Man. I suppose the wet weather we had did give us lots of time to try to plan something. In the event, the steep combined cost of the ferry and accommodation put us off, but we managed to find a cottage just outside the Peak District above the River Dove between Ellastone and Mayfield.

When I met her, TBH had only recently moved from Sheffield, on the edge of the Peak. I lived for many years in Manchester which also sits on the border of the Peak District and grew up in the East Midlands making the Peak District the most accessible National Park and where I did almost all of my earliest hill-walking. We have a shared affection for the area and this would be a trip down memory lane for both of us.

George and Dragon, Ashbourne.

We arrived a little too early to check-in to our cottage, so drove into nearby Ashbourne for an excellent late lunch/early tea at the George and Dragon. Ashbourne is a very handsome town. Wainwright was of the opinion, I believe, that it should have been the start of the Pennine Way which seems like a good idea to me. The Historic England map of the town shows an absolute rash of listed buildings, which perhaps at least partly accounts for its charm. The George and Dragon is one of those listed buildings, as is the nearby Town Hall…

Town Hall, Ashbourne.

…where, many moons ago, a certain Mr and Mrs Jones, known to many readers of this blog, tied the knot. I was on my best behaviour, and didn’t carry out my threat to wear a bridesmaid’s dress to the ceremony. Andy tells me that our beforehand Dutch Courage pints were consumed in the very same George and Dragon.

The Manifold Way.

Taking a leaf out of our New York trip, we tried to pack as much in each day as we could, so that evening we parked at Weag’s Bridge in the Manifold Valley to have a bit of a wander.

Thor’s Cave seen from the valley.

I’ve walked along the Manifold way, a cycling track and footpath which follows the course of an old light railway line, many times in the dim and distant past, but I don’t recall ever climbing up to take a closer look at Thor’s Cave.

The River Manifold?

As is sometimes the case in Limestone country like this, the river runs underground in some parts of the valley. I guess that there’s still a clear course for the river because it will sometimes flood and run above ground too in the winter months after heavy rain?

Fossils in the steps on the way up to the cave.

The large slabs which had been used to make steps on the steepish path up to the cave were resplendent with fossils, a marvellous excuse for me to stop and takes lots of photos whilst having a sneaky breather.

A view along the Manifold Valley.

Thor’s Cave.

Inside Thor’s Cave.

The view out of Thor’s Cave.

Another ‘entrance’.

Exploring the cave.

Thor’s Cave.

Exploring the cave.

It’s an imposing cave with lots of nooks and crannies to explore. Apparently evidence was found here of inhabitation from the Paleolithic era right through to medieval times. From the cave a path, not shown on the map and, by the looks of it, still under construction, climbs up to the edge of the gorge.

Above Thor’s Cave.

Another view along the Manifold Valley.

More Caves.

There were more small caves evident from this vantage point and the DBs spent a fair while exploring them. On the OS map a track can be seen making a beeline for the nearby village of Wetton. Although it’s not shown on the map as such, it’s now a permission path, so we followed it into the village, where we called in at the Royal Oak for a quick pint. From there we wandered down Carr Lane back to our car in the last of the light.

Warrendale Knotts

Above Settle.

The weekend before Christmas, when we would, in normal circumstances, be gathered together for a wet weekend of overeating, anecdote bingo, and maybe a bit of walking. Obviously that couldn’t happen last year. At least we could meet up for a walk. Sadly, the Surfnslide crew were self-isolating and weren’t able to join us.

Rainbow over Settle. Glad I got that sheet of corrugated iron in the foreground!

We met in Settle with a view to climb Warrendale Knotts. I suggested we divert slightly from our planned itinerary to take a look at Scaleber Force…

Scaleber Force.

I’d noticed that a small section of woodland here is access land, and that a right-of-way drops down to the bottom of the falls and then abruptly stops.

The EWO and Scaleber Force.

I think you’ll agree, it was worth a little out-and-back along a minor lane to see it. We found a likely spot, out of the wind, for an early lunch spot, thinking shelter might be at a premium later in the walk. Naturally, once we’d settled down, it began to rain. This seems to have been a recurring theme when we’ve met for walks of late.

Pendle Hill. Plus more corrugated iron.

High Hill Lane – that’s High Hill straight ahead.

It brightened up and we had a lovely sunny spell back along High Hill Lane.

But it was soon grey and wet again. It was that sort of day.

Warrendale Knotts.

The route we took up Warrendale Knotts proved to be ridiculously steep near the top, but it was well worth the effort…

Attermire Scar from Warrendale Knotts. The distant big hole in the middle of the picture is Victoria Cave.

On Warrendale Knotts.

We spent quite some time on this modest top. It was very windy, but with the clouds scudding across the views were constantly changing and very dramatic.

Crepuscular Rays.

Warrendale Knotts and Attermire Scar. Rye Loaf Hill on the right.

Pen-y-ghent

Pen-y-ghent and one of the cairns on Warrendale Knotts. Is that Fountains Fell in the cloud on the right?

Leaving the top.

Eventually, we had to move on. In fact, the Cheshire contingent had some pressing engagement and we chose to walk with them, initially at least, and so by-passed Victoria Cave.

Another view of Pen-y-ghent.

The weather deteriorated again, but the Adopted Yorkshire Woman assured us that she remembered a shelter, or possibly a cave, in the vicinity of Jubilee Cave, which would be kitted out with comfortable benches and provide a pleasant dry spot for another lunch stop. Sadly, it never materialised. Hard words may have been spoken about the vividness of the AYW’s imagination.

Jubilee Cave.

AT Jubilee Cave, the Cheshire crew left us to take a direct route back to Settle, whilst the remainder of our small party returned to Settle via Winskill and Langcliffe. That’s a very pleasant route, but I didn’t take any more photos, because the rain returned and this time it meant business. We did enjoy a brief dry spell and had a hurried stop in order to drain the dregs from our flasks, but by the time we reached the cars it was chucking it down. A small price to pay for a terrific walk though.

The day before this walk I uninstalled and reinstalled MapMyWalk. It worked, so here’s the resultant map. I think the numbers are kilometres, although the 4 and 6 seem a bit odd?

Warrendale Knotts, not named on the OS 1:50,000 is the trig pillar with a psot height of 440m.

I’ve never climbed Warrendale Knotts before, and I still haven’t been up Rye Loaf Hill. Looking at the map of the Dales, it also occurs to me that I haven’t been up Great Shunner Fell or Buckden Pike or Fountains Fell since the mid-eighties. Which seems criminal given that they’re all relatively close to home. Aside from the Three Peaks area, the closest bit to home, I’ve been neglecting the Dales. I have a lot of exploring to do!

Back to Camping Maisonneuve

Looking down on the campsite – our tents are in the trees, right of the buildings.

Long-suffering readers of this blog may remember that in 2018 we holidayed in the Dordogne and Tarn valleys in France with some old friends. This summer, we repeated the trip. Once again, the whole thing was meticulously planned and booked by The Shandy Sherpa, whose attention to detail is staggering. For example: scoping all of the Aires on the drive down, in advance, using Google Maps to see whether they had large enough parking spaces for cars towing trailer-tents. As they say, the devil is in the detail, and Andy’s careful planning ensured that the whole trip went smoothly in potentially trying circumstances. Awesome.

Castelnaud-la-Chapelle

This trip is a very laidback affair with certain key elements – a morning walk to the bakers; plenty of reading; meals together, often revolving around a barbecue; games of Kubb and Mölkky, usually continuing when darkness made accurate throwing next to impossible; lots of swimming, canoeing and floating down the river on inflatable rings; and short, steep walks up to the limestone cliffs above the campsite.

Castelnaud-la-Chapelle seen from hills above the Céou valley.

TBH in a cave mouth.

‘Little’ S finds a ‘window’.

TBF had a potentially nasty fall in one of the caves, but, sensibly, used Little S to break her fall. Fortunately, neither were hurt badly, just somewhat shaken.

We’d brought three different hammocks with us, which all got a lot of use. They all belong to TBH, presents I’ve bought her over the years. Why does she need three? Because that way, there’s at least a chance that the kids will leave her in peace in one of them, whilst they argue over the remaining two. We probably need another one!

Upstream of the campsite, there’s an excellent swimming hole; downstream there’s a bridge over another deep spot – perfect for jumping in. Trips, with or without inflatables, between either of those pools and the one by the campsite were a significant feature of the trip. Of course, we could and did do the whole trip from the upstream pool to the downstream bridge, but the Céou is surprisingly cold, so that trip was a bit long for comfort.

GR64, one of the amazing network of long-distance paths in France, passes close to the campsite. On a couple of occasions when the others were floating downstream, I took off for an out and back wander along the route. It was pleasant woodland walking, with occasional tantalising views of the Dordogne valley…

Les Jardins de Marqueyssac

TBH and I visited the gardens on our last visit.

Château de Beynac

Chateau de Bonaguil

We did occasionally stray a little further afield, including a trip out to this magnificent castle. It had drawbridges, towers, winding staircases, caves below, lizards on the walls and even a bat hanging from the ceiling in one of the rooms.

I didn’t see the montgolfières as often this trip as I did last time, but I did frequently hear them flying overhead early in the mornings whilst I was still tucked up in bed. This photo shows the beginning of an afternoon flight which was very dramatic since the balloons flew very low and continually flirted with a collision with a tree, without ever quite hitting one.

Pain au Noix et Pain de Campagne.

Gearstones Get-together.

Gayle Beck, which becomes the River Ribble. Or the River Ribble which has been Gayle Beck.

A distant view of Ribblehead Viaduct

Calf Holes

Ling Gill

The viaduct again.

Ingleborough

Force Gill

These photos are from our pre-Christmas weekend at Gearstones Lodge near Ribblehead. You’ll perhaps have spotted that people are noticeable by their absence – even though the photos come from two sociable walks in largish parties, and the principal pleasure of the weekend is in the catching-up with old friends, general chit-chat and light-hearted banter. It seems I have reverted to type and lived up to my kids image of me as a curmudgeonly misanthrope. My excuse is that I didn’t take any photos of my friends precisely because I was too busy chin-wagging.

The two walks were, firstly, a wander around the area to the south of the lodge, which is packed with interesting features like pot-holes, caves, waterfalls and a steep-sided ravine; and, secondly, a cloudy and eventually wet outing on Whernside.

Andy has a much better account of the weekend here.

One curiosity which he omitted to mention, I think: as we finished out first day’s walking, descending the track which is an old Roman road back towards Gearstones, we were passed by a steady stream of vehicles, which is a bit of a surprise on a rough track. We surmised that the occupants had been shooting on the moors.

It was, as ever, a fantastic weekend. We planned to all get together again, as usual, for the May Bank Holiday weekend, which seems very unlikely now. Here’s hoping we don’t have to wait too long before we can see each other again and I can once again take lots of landscape photos and apparently ignore my companions.

Half-term Happenings: Back to Little Salkeld

Addingham Church.

We were all keen to get out for a family walk, none more so than my dad, but he struggles with the cold these days and I wanted to find a route which had both the potential for a good walk, but also the option to cut the walk short if need be. After a bit of deliberation, I hit upon the idea of two shorter walks based around Little Salkeld in the Eden valley. We parked initially by Addingham Church near the village of Glassonby (curiously, the village of Addingham no longer exists).

This walk, or variations on it, have become a firm favourite of ours. Here’s A beside the Saxon Cross in the churchyard…

And here she is posing for a similar photo back in 2011….

In the intervening years the cross seems to have shrunk!

I can rarely resist the temptation to have a peek inside any churches I pass and Addingham certainly repays the effort. The lady on the right here is St. Cecilia, an early Christian martyr. I thought that the instrument she’s shown playing seemed entirely unlikely, but apparently she is often depicted playing it and it’s a real instrument – a portative organ or organetto. My lazy internet research also revealed that St. Cecilia appeared on the reverse of the old Edward Elgar £20 note.

There she is bottom left, beneath Worcester Cathedral. Presumably because she is the patron saint of musician’s. I can’t say that I’ve ever realised that she was there. How many times I have handled notes like this one, over the years, without ever really looking at them?

Then again, I didn’t know that King David is traditionally associated with the harp either, a fact which appears in the Book of Samuel, just before the more familiar story of David and Goliath.

Talking of familiar stories, here’s Saint George and the unfortunate dragon in my favourite window at Addingham.

Addingham also has two hogback gravestones, which, I’ve learned, were unique to the Viking settlers in Britain and haven’t been found in Scandinavia. The best preserved example is at St. Peters in Heysham, which I’ve walked past many times, but never been inside – an omission I must rectify soon.

It’s a short downhill stroll from Addingham Church to the huge stone circle of Long Meg and her Daughters.

I didn’t take many photos on this occasion, just these of my mum and Dad and my brother, but the stones have appeared on the blog many times before.

Winter Aconites on a roadside verge.

Another short stroll brings you to Little Salkeld, where we enjoyed a fabulous lunch in the cafe at the Watermill….

Steve and I then walked briskly back up to collect the cars and park them in Little Salkeld, whilst the rest set-off for a wander along the River Eden to Lacy’s Caves…

We managed to catch them up at the caves themselves.

By the time we had turned to walk back to Little Salkeld, an already cold day had become even colder, but that didn’t detract from a marvellous family outing.

Pre-Xmas Weekend: Ling Gill and Calf Holes.

Ling Gill.

The forecast for the Sunday was, if anything, even worse than it had been for the day before. However, some of us were itching to get out, and so, when TBH revealed that she had left her trekking poles behind whilst out on a walk the day before, we decided to go out to look for them. We started by heading up onto the moors of Cam End then turned south on the Pennine Way, heading for the impressive gorge of Ling Gill.

We met a lady walking her dog who told us that she walks that path every day and that we were the first people she had met for months. It’s a very quiet corner of the world!

Looking across Ling Gill to Ingleborough.

Calf Holes.

At Calf Holes a stream disappears into a yawning pothole.

TBH had been here with the boys the day before and this was where she thought she had left her poles. There was no sign of them, but it later transpired that some of our friends had picked them up here later in the day, so she will eventually get them back.

TBH wasn’t overly concerned about her poles and, whilst Andy and I faffed about taking photos, took the opportunity to tuck in to her pack-up.

Brow Gill Beck

The stream which pours into Calf Holes emerges downstream at Brow Gill Cave and then flows briefly underground again at God’s Bridge.

God’s Bridge.

We’d been this same way on our previous outing, but that had been in the dark, this time we managed to get back to the lodge almost before it got completely dark. In the end, the weather had been much kinder than we had been led to expect with hardly any rain and not too much wind – it had been a good decision to get out.

The next day, when we were packing up and leaving, the sky was pure blue, the sun shone and we were too busy to take advantage of it. Not to worry, it had been a highly enjoyable weekend, as always and a great start to our yuletide celebrations.

Pre-Xmas Weekend: Pen-y-ghent

As ever, we got together with a gaggle of old friends for the weekend before Christmas. After several years at Chapel-le-Dale, this year we moved, but only a little way up the road to Gearstones Lodge. Here’s the lodge…

I’ll take a moment to say that, if you are after simple, comfortable and spacious accommodation in a fantastic location for a largish group at a good price, then this place is going to be very hard to beat.

The first time we booked accommodation for a weekend before Christmas, A was just a baby and spent most of the weekend happily rocking furiously or sleeping in the only warm room at Slaidburn hostel. Now here she is, in the first photo, practically all grown up. It’s not the best photo of either A or Pen-y-ghent, which is hidden in the cloud behind,  but I’ve included because it’s a very typical A pose: she doesn’t want me to take her photo, but is tolerating my antics with a bemused look which tells me just how little she appreciates it.

Here she is again. We were all hunkered down behind the wall seeking some shelter from the wind and rain. We’d parked in Horton-in-Ribblesdale and were climbing Pen-y-ghent with the intention of continuing back to Gearstones afterwards.

A and J.

As often happens, somebody had stopped to change a layer or swig some water and somebody else had taken that as a queue for a lunch stop. We have a lot of lunch stops when walking together. I think there may even have been more scoffing underway when I caught up with the rest of the party at the top of Pen-y-ghent, having lagged behind a little, as is my wont. Certainly, an ‘official’ lunch stop was declared in the sheltered hollow…

Around the opening of Hunt Pot.

From there we diverted slightly from the most direct route to take a look at the highly impressive Hull Pot…

Usually, the streambed above the pot is dry, but one compensation of the weather being so wet was the opportunity it afforded to see the falls cascading over the edge of the pot.

And that’s it for my photos of that day. We still had quite a long way to walk, but it was very overcast at first, then dark for the last hour or so and anyway, I was busy chinwagging.

The ground we covered from Pen-y-ghent back to Gearstones did look very interesting, when we could still see it, and I look forward to going back to have another look in more conducive conditions.

Andy has helpfully included a map of our route in his post and there are more photos too.

And for photos from Pen-y-ghent in better weather, here are two previous posts of my own: here and here.

Back at the hostel, we dried out over cups of tea then enjoyed some top-notch grub and no doubt lots of silly anecdotes.

I’ve finished a number of walks in the dark this winter, which is just how winter walks should finish, and which gives me a handy excuse to include this…

‘It Might Get Dark’ by White Denim, which has something of Marc Bolan about it. I’ve heard White Denim quite a bit since I started listening to Radio 6. They’re touring the UK in February…..

Lacy’s Caves and Long Meg

A Saturday afternoon and we decided to dragoon the boys into coming out for a walk with us. In honesty, I can’t remember how we arrived at the decision to repeat a walk along the River Eden, taking in Little Salkeld Watermill, Lacy’s Caves and the Long Meg and her Daughters stone circle, but it was a good choice.

We began with lunch in the cafe at the mill, which was delicious, then set off towards the river. There was a paper notice tacked to the signpost indicating that some part of the footpath had been damaged by flooding and then closed, but the notice looked quite old, so we decided to ignore it.

TBH and I have done this walk three times now, and each time we’ve seen lots of Buzzards in this first part of the walk. Closer to hand, there were flowers and insects to admire and a tree heavily laden with rather tart apples.

Small White Butterfly on some sort of Hawk’s-beard, possibly Rough Hawk’s-beard.

Tachina Fera.

Forest Bug.

More fungi.

Earthballs.

A weir on the Eden. Force Mill opposite.

We did eventually see some signs of flood damage, but that had nothing to do with what happened next. I’m not sure how, but I lost my footing and fell down the steep bank towards the river. Little S was first to react, grabbing hold of my ankle as I slid down the slope, which, frankly, could have ended badly for him,  but between us we managed to halt my fall. I was a bit bruised and grazed, my camera took a whack, and I think we were all  slightly shaken, but ultimately, no harm was done.

The view of the River Eden from Lacy’s Caves.

Lacy’s Caves.

These are not natural caves, but were hewn from the rock by order of the local landowner Colonel Samuel Lacy. There are several connected ‘rooms’. One of them still has some planks in it and some metal brackets fastened to the wall, as if there had been a bench or a bed here. Apparently, Lacy may have paid someone to live in the caves as a ‘hermit’, which was a fashionable thing to do for a time. There are more pictures of the caves here, from our last family visit, made at a time when Little S genuinely was still little.

The boys may be practically grown up now, but they weren’t above a game of hide and seek in the caves, which, I’ll admit, was pretty hilarious.

I remember these wooden posts from last time too. This is one from a series erected around the Eden Valley area and designed by artist Pip Hall. They’re textured so that rubbings can be taken.

Mixed flock of Jackdaws and Rooks.

More fungi.

One of Long Meg’s daughters.

More daughters with Cross Fell in the cloud and the radar station on Great Dun Fell behind.

The uncountable daughters.

The Long Meg stone circle is amazing and, on the evidence of three visits, almost guaranteed to be virtually deserted.

Long Meg.

And again.

There’s some more detail and folklore regarding the stone circle in my previous post about a visit, here.

We first learned about this route from a leaflet published by Discover Eden. It was available as a PDF online, but these days you have to buy it. One word of warning – the leaflet gives a longer version of this walk, including a visit to Addingham Church, as 4½ miles, but my phone app gave 6 miles for our truncated version. No wonder our original round took us 6 hours when we had a toddler with us.