26 December 2005 – 2 January 2006
Preparations
It has not been my practice to record trivialities of any trip be it a weekend break or a longer one. I have not bothered to write about how I travel, what time did I start my journey and how did I proceed; how long did I have to wait for the bus, where I had my lunch or how difficult it was to find a particular walking track. I have not mentioned anywhere the cost of such travels, either in terms of money or time. Neither have I described the preparations for a trip, how I zoomed on a particular destination and the ways of gathering useful information before travel. If I had touched on any of these earlier it is only to bring out a particular point, a curious incident or peculiarity of the place visited. Otherwise, what interest could they hold for the reader? What use could be derived from such details that have little connection to place or people?
However, I start these notes differently, with the very trivialities I have thus far avoided. They have a place, though not a permanent one. They are of interest to the non-traveller who has never ventured beyond the comfort of his home or country. Equally so, they are of interest to those who detest public transport and thus miss the many pleasures they offer. In these little details lie the soul of my travel, not the place itself but getting to it and getting about it. These details trace the signature of my travel methods and perhaps even of myself. From these lines I wish to reveal who I am, not by telling but by showing.
My first visit to Scotland some weeks back had been a brief one. The great distance between Hampshire and Scotland, and the great many natural wonders of Scotland that I am yet to see justify a longer visit. The week long break from Christmas through New Year was a perfect opportunity to visit Scotland once more and give some continuity to my travels. With this in mind I headed to Farnborough Library to find out what’s waiting out there. A quick read was sufficient to tell me that I was not prepared to tackle the Scottish mountains in winter. Walking in snow and ice on unfamiliar remote terrain is a dangerous challenge. I have never used crampons. With my lack of experience in such conditions it was clearly a risk. Public transport in Scotland during winter didn’t look good. So the next best option was to visit Northern England. Lake District had already been visited earlier this year. Northumberland didn’t excite me too much but I guess this was because I was already biased towards the Yorkshire Dales. I had been considering the Dales since summer. These are moderate hills that could be attempted even in winter. In bad weather, the valleys offered adequate consolation. I also found that cheap accommodation was plenty in the Dales.
I borrowed the required maps, Ordnance Survey Landranger 98 and 104. Some general books on the Dales had to be read before leaving. For company, A.E. Housman and John Betjeman were also borrowed.
After some research the plan quickly took shape. Leeds appeared as the best place to start for the Dales. I would spend some nights at Kettlewell. It was in the heart of the Dales and a good base for exploring Wharfedale, Littondale, Conistone Moor and Malham. It had a YHA and some bunk-bed accommodation. The day before Christmas there were buses from Leeds to Kettlewell, although not a direct route. After leaving Kettlewell, for the next few days I would use Hawes as the base to explore Widdale, Sleddale, Wensleydale and Thwaite Common. Then I would make my way towards the region of the three peaks, perhaps using Selside or Horton-in-Ribblesdale as base. Buses between places had to be sorted out, one step at a time. Given that on some days there were no buses it was important to stay at a suitable base with sufficient walking opportunities.
In summer I could afford to take just my tent, get the train or bus tickets and travel without concern. Winter is different. Cold nights are silent killers. I had to get accommodation for all the nights. I e-mailed Kettlewell YHA only to find that they were closed during Christmas. I called Malham YHA with the same result. I called numerous other places that offered cheap stays. All of them were fully booked, not by individuals but by groups that had leased the place for the entire holiday period. It became clear that accommodation was going to determine my plan and I had to change it accordingly. Finally, I got lucky at The Station Inn at Ribblehead. This place was available for the first four nights including Christmas. I quickly booked it. Ribblehead seemed a good base to explore Whernside and Ingleborough. It wasn’t exactly the best starting point for Pen-y-ghent but I wasn’t complaining. To get a bed for four nights was in itself an achievement.
It is convenient that information on public transport is available on the Internet and could be obtained within a few clicks. The holiday period does complicate the details. One has to check the normal timetables and route maps. Then, one must apply the special restrictions due to Christmas, New Year and the Bank Holidays. When in doubt, one must call the bus operators and usually there is more than one operator serving an area as large as the Dales.
But first I had to get to Yorkshire. Train was the most comfortable option – to start at six in the morning, reaching Ribblehead at about noon. The cost of this came to about ninety pounds! So comfort had to be sacrificed for cost. A return ticket by an overnight bus from London to Leeds was only thirty pounds and I booked it without further thought. From Leeds, a single ticket to Ribblehead costs only ten pounds. My return path would be different anyway.
So it began and my plan resembled nothing of what it had been. From Ribblehead I had to take a train to Settle, walk from Settle to Malham where I would stay for two nights at two different places – the first night at Hill Top Bunk Barn, the second night at Malham YHA. Then I would somehow (I didn’t know how) make my way to Ripon which is way out of the Yorkshire Dales National Park. There were no direct buses from Wharfedale to Ripon. For that matter, there were no buses whatsoever from Malham. Malham truly appeared to be unconnected by public transport. I could find no information on the Internet. Ripon had never featured in my original plan but it was the only place that had a bed for New Year’s Eve and that too at a price I normally wouldn’t pay. So another trip to the library was made to borrow Ordnance Survey Landranger 99. A check of current weather conditions at BBC’s website prompted me to buy a new waterproof jacket. Provisions were bought – broccoli and carrots for vegetables; pears, apples and oranges for fruits; cereal bars, cereals and chocolate powder for breakfast; Uncle Ben’s pre-cooked flavoured rice and Bachelor’s noodles for main meals; white bread and tortilla wraps for preparing packed lunches while on the move. The accommodation at Ribblehead was self-catering. The pub would be closed during Christmas and I had to be self-sufficient.
For the last night I decided to stay at Leeds but all accommodation proved to be expensive. It was almost seven in the evening and I was still at the office making phone calls to book a bed. The bus from London Victoria was to depart at eleven. I had to return home, have dinner, pack my stuff and leave. The bed for the last night had to be booked later.
Arrival in Leeds
I left London Victoria by service number 465 at 2330 and reached Leeds at 0515. There is no proper sleep in an overnight bus but snatches of short naps are easy for the weary. The incomparable comfort lies in the fact that someone does the driving while you relax as much as you can. The connecting train from Leeds to Ribblehead was at 0849. The time in between was usefully spent walking the dark empty streets of Leeds in the hours before sunrise. I was surprised at the number of notable buildings. Their details were hidden in darkness yet their silhouette put on a stately appearance. I didn’t know the identities or who built them. There was time enough to find these out later on in the trip.
Some effort was made to book a bed for the last night of my stay in Yorkshire. Without proper contacts or resources it was a difficult if not an impossible task. In addition, the tourist information centres would be closed on New Year’s Day when I was scheduled to arrive back in Leeds. It was therefore decided to wait for the Tourist Information Centre at the train station to open at 0900 so as to sort out not only the accommodation but also bus routes and timings within the Dales. Thus, I postponed my departure from Leeds to 1049. Meanwhile, I came to know that all local buses were off-service on New Year’s Day. Fortunately, National Express was still running and I managed to book in advance my return from Ripon to Leeds.
Finally, after a few phone calls, I was successful in booking a bed for the first night of the New Year. I now had confirmed accommodation for all the nights. Buses and trains had been sorted out. Where this had not been possible, a day-long walk was seen as a challenge.
First Glimpse of the Dales
“Dale” is from an old English word that means a deep, narrow valley edged with steep slopes. I first came across this word in Shakespeare’s “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”, as a word spoken by Queen Titania. There are many places in England that could be called by this name. However, the fame of the Yorkshire Dales is so widespread that a mention of the word could mean nothing else. It is a fame established by the enduring beauty of the place.
The first glimpse of the Dales was by the famous Settle-Carlisle rail route. The mist revealed the landscape in parts and never in whole. It was as if one had to earn the privilege to experience the magic of the Dales. Low hills gave way to higher slopes. All of a sudden, the dramatic Pen-y-ghent came into view but its peak remained hidden. The moors around were bare and bleak. Yet they had a charm that came from their wild isolation. The promise of splendid walks was already beginning to mature.
But earning one’s privileges doesn’t come easily in the Dales. The first Yorkshire farmer I met had a frowning face. The welcome smile was missing. The beauty of the Dales seemed to be a private prerogative of the locals not to be shared with suspicious visitors. Influence of the outside world was shunned, perhaps regarded with prejudice and contempt. The barns and farm-houses had little touch of modernisation, at least on the outside. The only sign of any outside influence lay in the presence of a bewildering array of machine-driven farm tools. To guess each one’s use would in itself be a challenge to the city dweller. Of course, I am being too sarcastic. One should not judge all Yorkshire people from one short meeting on a cold day.
One of the first things I noticed in the Dales are the ubiquitous walls. Dry-stone walls are not new to me. I had seen them in and around Keswick. Perhaps, I had not studied them closely before but here in Yorkshire these walls are breathtaking. There is a neatness and perfection in their design and execution. They tumble, wind and explore the hills in a static dance. As one stone connects to another without anything in between, one wall connects to another with a filial bond and affection. Though they divide and separate the land, the unity and uniformity in the landscape cannot be missed. The walls are further strengthened by wooden poles on either side. Barbed wires link these poles in a zigzag pattern along the length of the walls. Here beauty and art stand in tribute to the skilful men of the countryside.
The first view of the Ribblehead Viaduct was an unforgettable one. The viaduct in itself is not a wonder of man’s ingenuity. The fame of the viaduct lies in its settings, surrounded by hills all around. Here is some wilderness, a place where one least expects to find any mark of civilisation; as if a wandering uncouth tribe, knowing no more than hunting and gathering, should chance to see this stone bridge of 24 arches gracefully joining hill to hill, and stand in silent awe. A thin wisp of cloud hanging over the bridge only heightened this allure. Then to walk through and under this viaduct, to look up at the towering edifice was to experience it in a completely different perspective. The viaduct seemed to tower above and over the hills, to frame the hills within the bounds of its supports, to mock the same hills and their elements from which it was made.
The hills that surround the viaduct are not mean in size or shape. They have a imposing character of their own. Their barren face seen from far belies the little lives that thrive even on higher slopes. The ground is wet and boggy. Wild grass and moss thrive in plenty. Sheep graze even at a height of 500m. Sightings of little birds are only for those with keen eyes. On the very first afternoon at Ribblehead (300m), I climbed Whernside up a steep path. I left the peak of Whernside (736m) for the next day and stopped at 600m. I stood on wet solid ground but I could hear the soft flow of underground streams right under my feet. The surprises of nature cannot be numbered. The view from Whernside towards Ribblehead has little comparison and much wonder. The peaks of Ingleborough (724m) and Pen-y-ghent (694m) are clearly seen. The lesser hills join in undulations like rhythmic waves on a sea. Country roads wind and disappear. A solitary smoke from a farmhouse rises and loses itself. The valley is secretive and the mist still hangs. The mist moves slowly, linking, unlinking, dividing, joining, circling, flowing, swirling, departing… The setting sun bathes the scene with a subtle glow. Some bare trees catch and filter this light as through a translucent veil. The clear sky and a few clouds on the western horizon accentuate the drama. The curve of the viaduct completes the picture. Next to it, the Station Inn, with my bed and a warm dinner, awaits my return.
