Rounding a bend in the river Cauldron Snout presents itself: a boiling torrent of water and spray cascading down a steep cliff of dolerite rock.
“Bloody hell,” I ventured eloquently. “How on earth do we get up that?”
In the event the only obvious way up was beside that very cataract. Some careful scrambling is necessary on steep, wet and smooth rock, with the force of water thundering just an inch or two from trembling limbs. It was pretty exhilarating stuff.
“Piece of cake,” I shouted over the roar of the falls after gaining the top unscathed.
There we were greeted by the mother and daughter team out, by another route, for a morning’s ramble.
“Did you mention the deposit when you spoke to the Bed and Breakfast?” mother enquired.
Passing the isolated old farm at Birkdale, and crossing the bleak, featureless moors under Mickle Fell, we regained and precariously crossed Maize Beck over newish, but partly toppled, stepping stones.
Bringing High Cup Nick underfoot is a moment that no amount of anticipation can prepare one for. The ground falls abruptly away at the head of a vast, deep and crag-fringed valley, scooped from the side of the high fell. It is a terrific sight, with tremendous views opening over the Eden valley and westwards to the Lakeland hills. It is, in my view, the most impressive single feature of the entire walk.
Walking high above the chasm, on a series of rocky ledges we passed a jeep-type vehicle, parked, secured and undamaged, as if waiting for the crew to turn up to film the ad. There was no indication whatsoever as to how it got there, or why.
The path continues along the rim of the valley before the steep descent to Dufton. We stopped to watch three men and their dogs shepherding a flock of sheep up the fell path. Sitting at the side of the path, we admired their skill, afraid of disrupting their work. We were rewarded for our patience by receiving a sideways glance, with the tiniest hint of a nod by way of thanks, from the eldest of the trio: a garrulous response by the taciturn standards of Westmorland hill farmers.
Dufton is an attractive spot, built of red sandstone, and is, I reckon, the prettiest settlement on the route. A village green graces Dufton, together with a café cum shop, a pub and the best B and B on the trail. I am told that the YHA is good too, but cannot personally vouch for it: it was the warden’s day off and it was closed, despite there being no free accommodation for miles around.
At the time, the Association were talking of selling the valuable hostel building in response, they said, to falling bed occupancy. They also needed to recoup Foot and Mouth disease losses from the previous year. I have no marketing experience, but…
Sycamore House is terrific: an old inn, converted and restored, with comfortable rooms, a warm Irish welcome and good food, and it is next door to the excellent pub. The icing on the cake was that the mother and daughter duo had in fact, booked separate rooms: oh joy!
I had good cause for a celebration: a ‘phone call home brought the news that I was a Grandfather, “Grandfather? Me, I’m much too young. I still have acne and sweaty feet for goodness sake.”
Another walker was staying: he was from London and was walking the route southwards from Alston as far as Middleton. We had an enjoyable night in the Stag Inn, although the landlord was a little too keen to enforce the “drinking up” period. It had good food and beer.
Accommodation: Sycamore House, Dufton (017683 51296)
£17.00
This is an excellent spot: good value and great people.
No comments:
Post a Comment