Idylls, ideas, ideals and idiots

After some poor weather I was desperate to get out of the house. So on Tuesday evening I drove through Ribblesdale, over Newby Pass to Wensleydale. The earlier rain had lifted the river Ure and adjoining becks so I thought two popular waterfalls might be worth visiting. Cotter Force (below) was shaded and mysterious, but pleasant, while nearby at Hardraw (above) the water clattered noisily into the great chamber of the scar. I was alone at both places and came over all poetic…

Cotter Force
Soothing sound
Quiet dale
Cackling water
Sweet cascade.
Languid heron
Patient angler
Lurches skyward
Seeing stranger.

Hardraw Force
Noisy neighbour
Violent slapping
Never ending
Diving splashing.
Green Dragon
Wood burning
Breathing fire
Landlord earning.

The Green Dragon remains an atmospheric pub despite some odd extensions and additions on the adjoining land. I don’t remember it costing £2.50 to enter the waterfall grounds the last time I was there, but I don’t begrudge the money to visit such a spectacular place. Many years ago when we camped nearby as youngsters we would walk through the churchyard to enter the great echoing theatre through which the beck flows, saving ourselves a thrupenny bit.
Short shaky video here https://youtu.be/h2I5fB3st4g

I just had to stop by the roadside to capture the black cloud heading towards Penyghent on the Silverdale road on Wednesday evening. The light was really dramatic. I was in two minds whether to use Photoshop to delete the telephone wire but then I thought it added something to the picture.

Ribblesdale at its best

There’s a short, flat, circular walk of just a couple of miles or so around Horton-in-Ribblesdale which takes in one of my favourite sections of the Ribble. At this time of year the tree branches hang low over the water, their vivid green leaves shading the slow moving river from the evening sun.

A fish momentarily popped its head from the clear brown water to catch a midge, causing an elegant ripple – which of course I missed capturing on camera as I sat admiring the tranquil rural scene.

There are some great views of Penyghent to be had across the dale from this short section of the Ribble Way. There’s an abundance of wild flowers in the riverside meadows, and unusual plants I wish I knew the names of growing along the water’s edge.

In a meadow across the other side of the wooden footbridge two children ran freely, laughing as they chased each other along the grassy path, their father following on with an obedient dog. It was a scene straight from one of those middle class books from which teachers taught us to read in the 1950s –  idyllic summers, a fresh unblemished countryside, well-dressed, perfectly behaved children… a million miles from my earliest years in a West Riding milltown.

I wondered whether those children in Ribblesdale on Thursday will ever realise how lucky they were right then. At that very moment in France a murderous monster not deserving of the title of human being was starting out on a hideous plan to kill innocent men, women and children no matter what their nationality, colour or faith.

A few Three Peaks finishers were dotted around Horton, sitting discussing their achievement or removing steaming boots. Others were putting up tents or enjoying a pint. Evidence that farmers had been busy lay all around and their neat rows cut of meadow provided a different foreground to Penyghent.

The trickle of traffic through Ribblesdale was brought to a standstill as a flock of sheep were cajoled along the road, noisily bleating their annoyance at being removed from their comfortable surroundings.

Serious Euro debate?

Earlier in the week I overheard a couple of elderly ladies talking while standing at the veg stall in Settle market. “I’ll be glad when they get rid of these silly metric thingies now we’re out of Europe,” said one. I couldn’t tell whether she was jesting or if she had actually voted to leave the EU because she can’t get to grips with metrification. (By the way, ladies, the EU did not ‘force’ metrification on the Brits as some Brexit liars had us believe – but I’m not going on the journey again… in miles or kilometres.) Which brings me to the point of this rant: I picked up a walks pamphlet the other day which gives all the heights in metric and all the distances in imperial; I also came across a driving booklet which gives stopping distances in metric only and speeds in mph only … and then shopkeeper’s wonder why old blokes like me just point at a lump of cheese and ask for ‘a fiver’s worth of that stuff’.