Goodness me. Christine and Max, our French friends from our days in Laroque arrived on Saturday, and it’s only Tuesday today. Look what we’ve crammed in….
An orientation session in Nidderdale, taking in a few views….
The view from Middlesmoor, Nidderdale.
A peaceful morning at Fountains Abbey and Studley Royal……
Fountains Abbey.
A visit to another UNESCO World Heritage Site, Salts Mill in Saltaire……
Salts Mill, Saltaire (image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons)
…. where we enjoyed David Hockney’s Arrival of Spring exhibition, featuring the Yorkshire Wolds…
David Hockney at Salts Mill.
The Five Rise locks at Bingley: a narrowboat was making its slow upward progress through the five locks as we arrived…
All five of the Five Rise locks at Bingley.
A mooch round Haworth, home to the Brontë sisters….
Peeking through a doorway in Haworth.
And views, views, always vast, always bounded by drystone walls, always different.
I’m not so blinkered as to believe that Yorkshire has all the best bits of scenery. I’ve had days to recharge the soul in every English county from south to north, from west to east, enjoying stirring uplands, gentle verdant hillsides, sky-filled flatlands, slowly-flowing rivers and tranquilly tinkling streams, and the constantly-changing views from the beach at the seaside.
All the same, what we saw whilst out walking today gave every picture postcard of anywhere outside the Yorkshire Dales a run for its money.
John’s view of Yorkshire, as described on his T-shirt, is the correct one.
From Pateley Bridge, set in the heart of Nidderdale (Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty), we energetically panted and clambered through Guisecliff Wood, whilst looking down at the village of Glasshouses below. We emerged, puffing for breath at the top, One way, we could look across the Daleside landscape of ancient field systems and stone-built settlements, to the vale of York beyond.
Looking across towards the Dales.
The other way were the moors, no longer bleak, because this is heather time. We breathed in the intoxicating smell that I like to buy potted up as rich, almost peaty flavoured heather honey. We stared, almost mesmerised at those carpets of blooms stretching away from us, mile after mile: not lilac, not lavender, not violet nor damson – simply that special low-key subtle purple that only heather can deliver.
Marching through the heather.
Past Yorke’s Folly: it’s said it was built in 1810, commissioned by the local landowner, John Yorke of Bewerley Hall, who was casting about for some means to keep his labourers in employment in a time of economic depression. These men received a shilling and a loaf of bread a day for their efforts.
Yorke’s Folly: a resting place for weary walkers to enjoy the view.
Then it was back to woodland again – very English woodland, with a full green canopy, not yet ready to turn to autumnal colours. Skrikes Wood, Nought Bank, Fishpond Wood.
Skrikes Wood.
Then back along a few final paths before returning to Pateley, and a very welcome pub lunch.
My goodness. I haven’t been on a walk like that since we left the Ariège. Over there, in the foothills of the Pyrenees, you knew you’d very likely have to struggle up and down through at least 600m in the course of a day’s march. Over here in Yorkshire, the hills and dales are generally much more forgiving, and I’ve got unused to climbing…. and descending.
All that changed yesterday. We went to Sutton Bank. You know what you’re going to be up against even before you arrive. The main road leading to the top has a gradient of 1 in 4, caravans are banned, and HGVs regularly get caught out on the way up. Yet the summit is a mere 298m. above sea level.
But it really is all about the gradient, this walk . And the wind. Not for nothing does the Yorkshire Gliding Club site itself at the top of the escarpment, all the better to enjoy the wind, the thermals and the views over North York Moors National Park. It made for an entertaining beginning to the walk, watching gliders being towed to a height of 600m. before being detatched to begin their slow and graceful descent to earth.
A glider is towed upwards on a windy day.
But this walk was all arse about face to someone accustomed to those Ariègeois walks. There, you started at the bottom, panted doggedly till you got to the top, where you had lunch, and then you skittered down again. Yesterday, we started at the top, and having waved the gliders goodbye, set off down the escarpment, through English woodland, with tantalising views across to the plain beneath. It wasn’t as mad as it seemed though. The path was steep enough to be slippery and uncertain, and it felt good to do this while we were still fresh. Climbing, later in the day, though tough, was the lesser challenge.
A level walk across the fields.
Soon after our lunch break, we were striding across fields set about with recently harvested bales of straw and hay, enjoying the views . This was to break us in gently for a thoroughly vertical-seeming climb, with steps among the tree roots to help us upwards. About half way up, we had a reprieve, because extraordinarily, there is a lake. Lake Gormire was formed in the last ice age, when a gigantic ice sheet scoured out a deep hollow in the crags. The southern end got trapped by landslips, and water from springs at the base of the escarpment allowed water to collect. It’s a lovely, secret place, and a haven for wildlife.
Lake Gormire.
A final effort, and we were there, at the top of the escarpment once more. A short walk along the top brought us to journey’s end, but not before we had stopped to admire the view which locals modestly call the finest view in England. Well, it’s certainly very fine.
Almost at the top of Sutton Bank and journey’s end.
We were glad to have had this challenging walk. Our muscles and air-waves reported they’d had a fine work out. We should do this more often.
From Pyrenees to Pennines 
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