The weather forecast wasn’t good. We had enjoyed another scenic ride through the Dales back to Tan Hill with Graham and had a late start from the pub, with dark and threatening clouds gathering along the western horizon.
It was a shame we could not get a bed at Tan Hill. I’d been looking forward to a return stay. Rita and I had taken refuge there one stormy September night on one of our walks. We got to bed very late. We were not up early.
Although we were only going as far as Baldersdale, we opted for the road route to Sleightholme. Moor Road is a rough, barely metalled lane across Sleightholme Moor. The only relief in a dark and austere landscape was the loud, piercing song of the moorland birds.
Walking towards a Land Rover parked at the side of the way, I could see one male occupant sat in the driver’s seat. His face was grimaced and contorted in obvious and severe pain. He did not react to our approach. Becoming increasingly concerned for his health and well-being, we were desperately trying to recall emergency procedures for cardiac arrest or stroke victims. As we neared the vehicle, his pained expression relaxed dramatically. His sweating, twitching countenance calmed. His complexion reverted to a healthy pink...
A comely female head then came into view from under the dashboard.
“By gum, that’s what I call a first aider,” I ventured.
“Those Saint John’s Ambulance courses really do come in handy,” mouthed Bob.
Restored miraculously to rude good health, neither party noted our passing.
At Sleightholme the rains started. It was driving, hard and heavy rain. It was to remain so for the rest of the day.
The nature of the trail changes at Stainmore. Up until Tan Hill the paths are, in the main, distinct and well trodden. Once we entered County Durham, feelings of isolation, vulnerability and loneliness began to permeate the senses. Route finding is more problematic; the trods are indistinct, sometimes barely visible; fellow walkers are infrequent.
A couple of weeks before our visit two walking friends separated in this area, triggering a massive search. The missing man turned up, sheepish, but safe and well. He was in a Middleton hotel, unaware of the mayhem he had triggered, until he saw the rigorous search reported on local television. It is a nightmare that all who venture into remote places must surely dread; their shortcomings and foibles exposed and ridiculed by the tabloid press.
The crossing of Cotherstone Moor was wet and grim. On a fine day, it would be bleak. Today it was ghastly. On the descent to Baldersdale, I was picking my way over boggy, sodden ground, following an intermittent and vague path, with Bob following behind. I stepped on a particularly wet patch of earth. It wobbled like a jelly. The shaking earth was a vaguely circular plot, a good ten feet in diameter: the sensation was one of walking on the skin of a huge bubble. Oscillated disconcertingly, the membrane did not puncture, thank goodness. I guess it was grasses and mosses matted over a water-filled depression. Whatever it was, it is the first time I’ve experienced anything like it. It was scary.
We were the first to arrive at the hostel. The warden opened early and we settled before the masses arrived. The place quickly filled. I would really have to sleep in the lounge, or risk a slit throat. Although it was heaving the ambiance was good; most mucked in to help a very harassed warden cope with the hoards. I got talking to an old lady who said she was doing the Pennine Way with friends. I guessed she meant that they were cherry picking short manageable sections of the route. She was a game and interesting old stick though.
Tonight was to be the only completely dry night of the trip: it was miles down the valley to the nearest pub. A spectacular evening-long thunderstorm, with lashings of rain and a failing electricity supply enlivened the stay.
Accommodation: Baldersdale YHA (01833 650629)
£9.50 + meals
The place was packed, but the food was terrific. This would be a great place for a secluded few days if it weren’t for the long haul to the pub.
No comments:
Post a Comment