Day 5: Friday July 26th
The five Germans at breakfast were going all the way to Cowgill. Admittedly, they would save one and a half miles by not staying at the Station Inn in Ribblehead, but that’s still an extra two miles or more than I had been intending to do. Everyone I encountered during this walk seemed to have so much more stamina than I did, which was a bit depressing, me being this lifelong big walker and all. I was beginning to think that doing almost none for several years and expecting to maintain the same fitness I’d always had doesn’t work quite the same way when you’re – ahem – older. I’d be in better condition by the end of the trip, though; that was assured.
‘Have a lovely day,’ they wished me, calm as anything.
Thank you, I’ll try. Let’s see how many times I manage to wander miles in the wrong direction today, shall we? I didn’t say.
‘Thanks. Same to you!’ was the better reply.
At least I knew the way to Buckden, although I’m confident I could have managed that in any event, since it’s just about visible from the get-go. It’s a lovely way to start a day, especially a fine one, with bees and butterflies flitting around the pignut flowers and drops of dew glistening on the sedges.
From Buckden to Kettlewell the way followed the river, sometimes closely and other times across grass pasture beneath shady trees, past sturdy, stone barns with wild geraniums and harebells lining the path. I always loved a visit to Kettlewell, with my parents or a boyfriend (or two), and all the memories are happy ones. The walk took me right past a cute, wee coffee shop with rustic benches and umbrellas outside, though it wasn’t clear if they were protection from the sun or the rain as there was a little of both. I ordered an oat milk latte and – oh joy! – they even had a vegan flapjack. Much decadence so early in the day, but I wouldn’t find such sustenance again until I arrived in Grassington and, with my track record, who knew when that might be?
There was a bit of a hill to climb up onto the crags above Kettlewell and it made me realise how much of this walk is flat. It really is, or should be, quite easy; it was just the distances which got to me, particularly when I insisted on adding to them by missing the path. Once on top, the views were spectacular. A seagull screeched overhead, so far from its presumed home. Was it on holiday, too? At last, I had easy walking, with short, cropped upland turf, a gentle breeze and perfect visibility. I lost the path briefly, and spend a good twenty minutes trying to find my way out of some broken-down sheep fanks, but at least I could see the direction I was going in; I kept Kilnsey Crag on my right, far below, looking like a toy version of itself.
Here and there were outcrops of limestone pavement with scrubby, battered, bonsai hawthorns protruding from the grykes. Above Conistone I came upon an inviting natural viewpoint; an jumble of rocks with natural ‘seats’ for eating my leftover toast. As I looked around for the perfect perch, a young girl strode past me, peered over the edge then offered to take my photo. I usually refuse such things; the scenery looks far better without me in it. But on this occasion, I thought I’d better, lest there ever be any doubt I’d made it up there, or should there ever be a time I’m no longer able to. The girl informed me I was sitting atop Conistone Pie. And that she was meeting her parents for lunch in Grassington. Lunch?I hadn’t anticipated limping in until late afternoon. Well, she was running a little late, she agreed. But she still hoped to be there within the hour. Whether she made it or not I have no idea; she was soon over the horizon, leaving me alone with the breeze, a sparrow, and a three-hour slog ahead of me.
An hour or so above Grassington I thought I was hallucinating when I saw a couple wheeling a pushchair. This reminded me of the first time I climbed Stac Pollaidh, in 1986, when I emerged onto the saddle believing I’d conquered Everest, only to see grey-haired ladies in lace-up shoes trotting along the summit with their poodles. That wasn’t a hallucination either. On closer inspection, this couple had their elderly dog in the pushchair. Priceless.
As luck (or planning) would have it, I was staying in another pub tonight: The Foresters Arms. As I approached, weak and windswept, I saw that Friday evening had already begun, and the outdoor benches were filled with locals; youngsters, walkers with their dogs, pints of cider, crisps and laughter. Finding one spot free, I hastily changed into my flipflops and joined them. Ahhhhhh.
Official distance: 12 miles
Extra miles: 0
Miles skipped: 0
Official time: 5-6 hours
Time spent being lost: ½ hour
Time spent in café, enjoying refreshments and Wi-Fi: 1 hour
Total time taken: 7½ hours
Difficulty rating: It was a lovely walk today and mostly easy, although the long descent to Grassington down a track and then a road at the top of the village seemed infeasibly punishing. While yesterday’s rest did my feet a lot of good, I was still hobbling by the end of the day and very glad to put down my pack and whip my boots and socks off. I was beginning to feel as if ten miles was my limit, and that after that I began to flag, both physically and emotionally.