“Take me to the river and wash me down.” – 🎶 Al Green in 1974 and covered by Talking Heads in 1978

The Tale of the 3 Grumpy Landlords

Welcome to Day 2 of my little jaunt along the 80 mile Dales Way, that links Ilkley in West Yorkshire to Windermere in the Lake District.

Due to limited signal and charge this blog is written a day behind my actual walking day. Eg today is Thursday but here, I’m blogging about Wednesday’s walk. 

As I write it is raining heavily and the raindrops are pinging off the canvas. l’m writing this second day of 3 blog from the ‘comfort’ of my tent. Given the deluge we had last night. I can assure you there is currently, no heatwave in northern England.

On Day One I walked 21 miles from my home to my chosen campsite in Kettlewell, right in the heart of the Dales. 

It was a beautiful walk, but challenging all the same. At least 30% of the stated path wasn’t actually walkable.Never mind, I like a challenge and apart from wet feet and aching limbs I was no worse off for making up my own route.

My planned walk for day 2, was an eye watering 26 so by 08.30 I was waiting outside Kettlewell Village Stores to stock up on supplies for the full day ahead of me. There are no other guaranteed food outlets along this stretch of the Dales Way.

My initial route was gentle and I followed the River Wharfe for the next 16 miles. 

It was beautiful, the forecast rain failed to materialize and a walking temperature of 16 degrees was just perfect.

The Yorkshire Dales revealed themselves to me in all their finery. Mazes of centuries old dry stone walls, rolling dales, a sparkling river and scores of stone barns provided multiple distractions to the weight I was carrying on my back.

My pack weighs around 14 kg. Not light, but a tent, sleep mattress, cooler, gas and pot all contributed to my extra weight. 

I passed a young couple walking south east towards Ilkley. They carried tiny packs: but the reason became clear as they explained that they weren’t camping, preferring to stay in bed and breakfast accommodation and local inns. 

I also passed  a pair of older gents who advised me to avoid the one coffee opportunity in Buckden. “He charges £4 for a coffee and he’s a miserable old b*****’” was their final answer as we said goodbye. 

Duly warned and with an alternative pub in mind, just 2 miles further up the track, I ignored the detour to Buckden and continued on towards Hubberholme.

As I got nearer my mouth was salivating at the thought of a nice flat white coffee and a bacon butty on a softly floured morning roll.

Calamity!

The George doesn’t open on a Wednesday and the seemingly stressed landlord had no staff apparently! I wondered, privately, if they were all off slaying dragons. Only I didn’t like to articulate that observation, because his body language suggested that any attempt at humour would be distinctly unwelcome. He may have just been having a bad day of course. We can all grump! Besides it was partly my mistake: I should have checked opening times as it might have influenced me to go to the grumpy landlord of Buckden after all.

A VR letterbox was on the pub wall. My walking friend Marc from Halifax, loves these old postboxes.

No point crying over missed coffee, I mused. So I soldiered on.

The evidence of the extraordinary British heatwave this year was clear in the river levels of the upper Wharfe.

At times there was no river. Mostly it was only a silent trickle. A force bereft of all its flow. A few storms like the one I experienced last night will help to remedy those levels I expect. “But it’s going to take time!”🎶

Despite the absence of river water, beauty was very much in the eyes of this beholder, in every direction.

Anyone reading this blog who is now tempted to walk the Dales Way should do it.

It is beautiful and the walking is mostly kind: flat riverside trails without much serious elevation.

After 3 hours of non stop walking I reached the hamlet of Beckermonds where the route dog-legs in a more northerly direction.

I stopped for a rest and hung my sodden tent from a tree, to dry.

When the sun came out it was actually pleasantly warm.

I swapped a few words with another walker who I had trailed all the way up from Buckden and who I had overtaken a few miles earlier. My pitstop meant that he overtook me.

His rucsac was distinctive: covered by a bright orange rain cover. Great protection and the colour made him incredibly visible. He carried on whilst I munched my sausage roll in the sun.

Two friendly ladies passed me and told me that there was a snack station with honesty box at Ougthershaw just a mile further up the trail. They moved ahead of me too.

After a 15 minute break I loaded back up and walked on.

The trail had became tarmac for this mile. Steep tarmac too.

I stopped at the snack station, partly to catch my breath and there I joined Ann from Skipton and Viv from Holmfirth, the 2 ladies previously mentioned, who were both walking part of the Dales Way from Ilkley to the famous Ribblehead viaduct.

We sat on comfortable seats, with our teas and swapped a few tales.

They were great fun, warm and engaging. My tea and their company had a rejuvenating effect on me.

Meanwhile the orange backpacker had walked on whilst we took our tea break.

Suitably refreshed and after bidding adieu to those lovely ladies I returned to the trail.

After yesterday’s decision to short cut had left me with sodden feet, I had been reluctant to repeat the experience. But I also had a long way to go and there was a brilliant short cut looming: if I dared to take it.

Admittedly it did mean ascending 250 metres on a steep B road, but as my map showed, it would cut off a significant chunk.

Decision made.

At the junction between road and Way I chose the elevated road.

As I cleared the first 100 metres of elevation, I heard a whoop and a holler behind me. Lovely Ann had chased me up the hill: I had left my refilled water bottle at the snack stop. She must have chased me for at least half a mile.

So kind!

I descended some 80 of those 100 metres to give her a thank you hug and reclaim my prize before restarting that climb again.

There are many ways to negotiate a steeply climbing road: and this one was steep. I try to distract myself with lots of silly activities: eg not looking up until I reach a certain tree, counting to 100 before looking up, singing a song out loud, counting backwards etc etc.

It helps me!

I’ve learned in (my) life, just as when I’m walking, that the tough times mostly pass: with time!

I always check that I’m alone before I start to sing!

I am no Pavarotti!

Half way up those 250 metres I stopped my mournful melodies as I spotted a familiar orange backed figure walking back down the hill towards me.

It was the other solo walker who I had ‘chased’ up the trail and who was now walking down towards me.

We stopped and introduced ourselves.

Martin met Martin, a 70 year old crime novelist from Manchester who writes published novels under the pseudonym of MJ Lee. 

He has sold millions of copies apparently.

I reassured Martin that my short cut was a real one and he retraced his steps back up the hill he had already walked up and given up on.

Thankfully my shortcut hunch was a good one.

After all, there’s a lot of pressure when another rambler puts their trust in you!

We walked together for around 4 miles.

I learnt a lot about crime writing: not my current skillset though I  am the proud self published author of one book: ‘Bedbugs, Blisters and Brain Surgery’, which charted my son Jake’s battle with a brain tumour, his amazing recovery and our walk along the 500 mile Camino de Santiago in 2017, to celebrate.

Martin’s novels are gritty.

He writes on average, 2000 words a day.

He  recommended me trying one of his first novels: ‘DI Ridpath’.

It’s now on my list!

We went our separate ways high up on the fells looking down on the Dales Trail at the foot of the valley below us.

From then on I saw nobody except sheep and a few passing cars.

Beautiful flowers, unknown to me, clumped in a sheltered nook.

The trail was easy, gently contouring this beautiful valley.

I started descending into Dent Dale.

A rough calculation told me I had now walked around 20 miles with another 7 to go.

Ingleborough, to the south, was my spectacular trail companion in all its elevated glory: all 697 metres from memory.

The Dent viaduct was another amazing sight as I looked down beyond it into Dentdale.

It was hot and my phone was about to die which was a bit annoying as it was my primary navigation tool using the OS maps app.

I consoled myself with the thought that The Sportsman pub was only a mile away and that if I asked nicely they would obviously let me get a little bit of charge into it.

I bought a welcome beer and politely asked if I could put 10 minutes charge into my phone.

The landlord’s sullen response was: “No. We have to PAT test everything now”.

Technically this was maybe true, (by the strictest letter of the law), but his attitude was overly unhelpful in relation to my situation.

Today’s walk was proving to be a lovely day for walking, less so for public house hospitality!

I left quickly.

I smiled as I reflected that earlier in the day I had been told that the publican in Buckden was a “miserable b******”, the landlord at The George in Hubberholme had bemoaned his staff shortage and was emphatic in telling me the pub was shut. Now this!

The landlord of the Sportsman had confirmed my view that the Dales Way is lovely, its hospitality industry (in some, not all cases) less so. 

With no signal and no charge I chose to follow the 4.5 mile minor road into Dent.

It was hard work.

I was tired now and just wanted to finish and that miserable publican had cheesed me off.

walked past the Ewedales camp site.

A sign hung on its gate: “Closed due to contaminated water”.

(The sign actually blamed Yorkshire Water for the contamination).

My disdain for anyone in the liquid industry increased with immediate effect. Beer and water morphed into one.

Water privatization is a ‘Dirty Business!’

If you don’t believe me watch the Netflix series with that name.

It is a shocking watch! 

With no charge came no camera to take photos.

I distracted myself from thinking too much as I still had 4.5 miles to go.

I rolled into Dent just after 6.30pm. 27 miles walked over pretty rough terrain in 10 hours wasn’t too shabby.

My pizza in the pub was fabulous. I just didn’t have any energy to cook: not even my ‘boil in the bag’ hiker’s meals.

What a magnificent day: but boy did I ache! 

I hope you enjoyed this blog.

Thanks for the read.

Please feel free to share it should you wish.

If anyone you know wishes to be added to the private WhatsApp group for my blogs, please send me a direct message. 

It is not a problem

Best wishes 

Martin x

Ps Massive thanks once again to my great university friend Sarah, who has edited out all my typos! 

‘Eds Creds’ to Sarah Cross👌

Sarah came to stay with us last week. She has a wicked sense of humour!

Martin Moorman is a 61 year old retired Headteacher who lives with his wife Nicky, daughter Rosie and her family in North Yorkshire, UK. 

Happily married for 36 years, Martin and Nicky have 3 grown up children, Rosie, Harry and Jake, all happily married too. In his spare time Martin loves walking, photography, football, renovating, cooking and talking rubbish to anyone who will listen!