Tag: Ribblesdale

Not everything is so black and white in the Yorkshire dales

sheepb&w
I’ve decided that sheep get a bad press. I like to think they can be proud, strong leaders. And this character, encountered on a short walk on Monday, definitely agrees. The start of the week was grey so I continued on the black-and-white theme with a shot of the lane leading to Stainforth Scar from Langcliffe, and another of a farm in Swaledale – a different kind of Dales landscape.
laneb&w

swalefarm

Wednesday was Budget Day and those Tories really do see everything in black-and-white don’t they? The chancellor has a misguided impression that his friends in business will solve all our economic and social problems. Yes, of course George, all businesses will now start paying their workers decent wages and abolish zero-hours contracts. Business owners and shareholders will immediately stop hiking off as much profit as they can for themselves, they’ll cough up all the tax they owe, won’t go live abroad and will stop hiring cheap immigrant labour. Not all businesses are so greedy, I know – there are shades of grey in everything. Smearsett Scar, below, is a good example.
texture
Thank goodness Thursday brought some colour into my life. I rose early for some fabulous shots up Ribblesdale which looked stunning.ribbview

Then it was on to one of my favourite spots of all: Thorns Gill, at the very head of the dale. Two hours I spent at the gill and the abandoned grange of Thorns – and I never saw another soul. From the top of a small rise just beyond the ancient settlement, on the path to Nether Lodge, the 360-degree views are outstanding. I took far too many pictures to show here: ruined buildings, strange rock formations, lichen encrusted signposts, moss covered walls and overgrown ancient tracks and, of course, Ribblehead viaduct and the Three Peaks (I may in future publish a blog on Thorns only). The waterfalls were tranquil compared with how I’d seen them in the past, but nevertheless hypnotising. Gayle Beck, looking like well-brewed Yorkshire tea, cackled excitedly over the rocks. The dark, still pools were inviting on this hot day – dare I strip off for a bit of wild swimming? Not with all those sheep watching.
thornsgill
Friday reminded me that folk actually work in the dales and don’t just aimlessly flit around the place as I do. Near Austwick, half a dozen farm workers, in a kind of synchronised, motorised dance movement expertly cleared the meadows. hayaustwick

Exhausted by the thought of all that work I took a stripey photo of Moughton Scar (which might look better in b&w) before heading home for a brew of Yorkshire tea. By the way, has anyone ever seen the vast Yorkshire tea plantations?

moughton(Wot, no trains this week?)

The ups and downs of a Dales summer

People were rushing for their sunglasses in Ribblesdale this week – not to shade their eyes from the welcome sun but to prevent glare from my milk-white legs which I exposed to an unwary public for the first time in a couple of years.
Last Sunday there was some lovely evening light which I was lucky enough to witness at Lower Winskill. The peaks of Smearsett Scar and a distant Ingleborough looked cool.

winskillserene
On Monday I popped back down to Langcliffe Mill pond to see if the tiny chicks were still around and was relieved to see there were still nine despite the presence of a huge heron.

chicks
A goods train from Carlisle passed beneath me as I trundled over the footbridge and I thought what a better way this was to transport stone from the quarries than via the hundreds of noisy trucks which pass on the nearby B6479 road.

dieselpyg
I felt sorry for the sheep on a humid Tuesday as they struggled with heavy woollen coats but found some shade beside this cute little barn next to the Ribble. Close by are these lovely allotments – a credit to those who tend them.

allotsbarnshade

An earlier comment I read on Facebook had reminded me of a Grade ii* listed building in Ribblesdale called Lodge Hall, sometimes known as Ingman’s Lodge. Many walkers doing the Three Peaks will have passed by the 17th-century building which, along with several outbuildings, doesn’t look in the best of condition. I’m in no way having a go at the owner but I would have thought English Heritage or similar would want to ensure this architectural treasure is maintained for future generations to admire. The dog here didn’t seem too pleased with my interference.

lodge

mad dog
The same day, I drove down the top end of Dentdale and happened upon this steam train leaving Dent Station, and I also managed to capture it as it crossed Dent Head Viaduct. A great sight and tribute to those who worked hard to keep the Settle-Carlisle Railway open. (Can I assure friends here that I DO NOT need an intervention regarding any perceived obsession with trains.)

teletrain denthead
I got up early for a stroll by the Ribble from Langcliffe to Stainforth on Friday. But I was left downbeat by the sad state of the area around Stainforth Foss. It looked like there’d been a mini-Glastonbury Festival there … cans, bottles and other garbage strewn everywhere, even in the river. Goodness knows what it was like over the weekend – the place means a lot to me and I dare not go look just yet. Come on, Park Rangers and police – this behaviour is not just a disgrace but also illegal – do something about it.

litter
On my way back home, as I was chuntering to myself about how I’d make the morons pick up the litter with their teeth, I popped my head into the Hoffmann Kiln. The light reflected from the bright, sun-lit greenery produced a stunning effect inside this man-made cavern. My first thought was what a tremendous art gallery this could become.

hoffkiln
The weather? It’s been a week of sun, rain, hailstones the size of golf balls, high winds, gentle summer breezes and soaring temperatures, not to mention the thunder and lightning which played havoc with my electricity and computer. The ups and downs of summer in the Dales.

Flaming June, fishing, Facebook, Fellsman, bullies and trolls

flamingjune
One of the great pleasures about having kids AND a camera is that you can store up a great deal of ammunition to be used at a later date for embarrassing or threatening them. Instant access to their friends and family through Facebook means you have everything a parent with an evil streak needs to pass away rainy days. This week I was accused of being cruel to my son for posting a photo of him when he was in a brief punk phase, so I’d like to apologise to him via this week’s blog and promise not to do it again … this week.
horsewalk
Early doors on Monday this horse and I were up enjoying the summer flowers in a field between Langcliffe and Settle, while on Tuesday I had more of a mission. I’d come across an old Victorian drawing of Thorpe, near Burnsall in Wharfedale, and wondered how much it had changed over the years. I called in at Linton on the way and just managed to get a photo of the bridge without any cars in the shot.lintonbrMy last visit to Thorpe was a few years back when I interviewed an artist there for Dalesman. Little has changed since then but that earlier Victorian artist would have noticed several differences. It looks like one of the buildings in his drawing has disappeared now, many houses are now second homes, and large 4-wheel-drive machines cruise the narrow roads in and out of the village as I found to my cost – how come it’s always the smaller car who has to do all the reversing? Bullies.
thorpe
I walked by the river in Burnsall, a place like Bolton Abbey which I normally steer clear of during the height of summer (I’m a miserable old bugger who doesn’t like crowds). A fly fisherman seemed oblivious to the constant foot traffic along the riverside path, in his own little world, pitting his wits against a fish which more than likely didn’t realise it was taking part in a game. I hope the chap isn’t recognisable as I’d hate him to have told the boss he was at his grandma’s funeral, or his wife that he’ll be late home from work because of an important meeting.
fishing
I don’t like grey squirrels – tree rats, taking over our parks and countryside at the expense of the reds – but I admit they can look cute and I spotted this one by the Wharfe, no doubt full from tit-bits fed to it by pub-lunchers at the Red Lion.
grey
The cloud which tends to hang around the Dales had completely broken up by the evening so I drove up Ribblesdale for some stock shots of Penyghent from Horton. Cliches perhaps but they always attract a lot of comment on Facebook and Twitter so people must like them.
pyggrave
On Wednesday the Fellsman train was hauled by Galatea and I watched it trundle across Ribblehead viaduct on its way back to Lancashire. I find it so annoying that these special steam trains can use the line from Blackburn and Clitheroe via Hellifield and Settle but there’s no direct passenger route which would easily link this part of the Dales with Manchester and all points west. With more rail finance cutbacks announced this week no doubt the route will never open in my lifetime, yet the multi-billion HS2 link for the wealthy and London commuters, which will chew up millions of acres of our countryside when built, will no doubt somehow be found the brass.
fellsmanrib
I paused during Thursday evening’s stroll by the Ribble to look at the ducks. Yeah, big wildlife guru admiring common ducks … but really, when you observe them closely they really are beautiful, colourful birds – especially the mallard (can’t seem to get trains out of my mind at the moment).
ducks
When I was buying my cottage, the conveyancing solicitor (an internet company from down south) told me they’d have to state a minor flood risk for insurance purposes because I was within a certain distance from the river. I called him to ask if anyone in the office could read an OS map because if they could they would see that the cottage is actually more than 100 feet higher than the river – ‘brown contour things on the map’ I said sarcastically – and that if the river flooded to this depth then it’s also likely that all of the York Plain, Norfolk and London would also be totally submerged. ‘We have hills in Yorkshire’ I reminded him. I heard nothing else on the matter. Anyway, the point of this rambling is that there is a path from the village down the hill which leads to a mill pond alongside the river. It’s a lovely little spot, full of wildlife and plants. I risked being attacked by biting insects to take a couple of photos on Friday evening. The pond is being gradually taken over by iris pseudacorus which are flowering now. The overflow which heads to the river has little bridge over which the sheep play Billy Goats Gruff to annoy the troll.irispseudacorus

millover

Vapour, steam, bridges, foxes, reflections and ruins in Ribblesdale

vapour

I never left Ribblesdale during the last seven days – as my photo diary testifies. Poor weather for June really, so I kept local. But it all started so promisingly. The dale woke up on Monday to a bright blue sky littered with party streamers – vapour trails, which I blamed on Lancastrians on Facebook. I’d presumed they were sending planes from Manchester to pollute our Yorkshire skies. However, I learned later that the majority of them came from London – even worse.
The early stroll took me by an extremely low river Ribble where I saw a duck with eight cute ducklings struggling to keep up. I ‘m annoyed with myself for not getting a better photo of them but I couldn’t get close enough. The duck stayed hidden as a large grey heron was stalking the riverbank. It flew off as I approached and again I cocked-up the photo.

ducklingsheron
I did, however, get some some nice shots of cows drinking from the Ribble and spotted this amazing upside down hovering cow. It’s standing on the opposite bank, hidden behind the tree branches, but it’s reflection along with that of the sky is sharp on the still water of the river.

cow
From then the weather took a distinctly downhill turn. I got soaked on Wednesday lunchtime at Helwith Bridge waiting for the Fellsman steam train on the Settle-Carlisle. The engine was Leander 45690 for those who fret about such detail.  I don’t – but I love the spectacle of steam. The train makes such a dramatic entrance, full of energy and exuberance. The regular train snappers had taken up position at one side of the bridge but I thought there might be a more unusual portrait from t’ other, and was rewarded with this shot. I drained out what tiny specks of colour remained amongst all the rain, mist and steam.

fellsmansmall
Later that day I wandered down the Pennine Bridleway near Selside with the double aim of seeing the train on its way back and also to look in on a unique bridge over the Ribble. I was able to get up close and personal with the train as it coasted down the dale, reminding me of an old toy train set.

trainclose
When I edited Dalesman I witnessed the opening of a special wooden-arched bridge taking riders, cyclists and walkers over the river as part of the 200-mile Pennine Bridleway. At 174-feet long, Far Moor Bridge is said to be the longest of its kind of structure anywhere in the world. I remembered it as a bright, shiny piece of architecture, a little garish for its situation, but now it has weathered and is becoming part of a scene rarely visited by the general public. And apart from a couple of cavorting oyster-catchers there was no other life on this world record holder today.

bridge
A record for me was the sight, for the first time, of a fox prowling these parts. I’d no chance of photographing it as it disappeared as soon as we saw each other. It’s pretty rough land here, partly a flood plain, but there were lambs about and I wondered whether the farmer knew of the fox on his doorstep.

ruinrib
There’s also an abandoned farm building here. The land is bleak, the weather was dismal, and the derelict building reminded me of a poem I’d started to write a while back but never really developed:
Memories swirling around
silent stubborn stones
are recalled only by the ghosts
of those who once breathed
within the now crumbling walls.
They opened its doors
with faith and hope
of taming land so barren and wild.
No dreams of great riches —
enough to get by would suffice:
clogs for the children, meat for a pie.
But Nature at its wildest and meanest
knows nothing of sympathy
— or hardship or pain.
The futile battle was lost
and now Nature reclaims
what is rightfully hers.
Once a welcome refuge
for those who toiled the land
lies abandoned and forlorn,
inhabitants long gone —
only their memories swirl around
those silent stubborn stones.

A blog about those two bright days in the Dales

(Bear with me during this lengthy blog – the sun’s gone in now and I’m reminiscing for my own amusement about the week just gone)

Two fine days in a row last week – or, what we in these parts call summer – saw me out and about with the camera once again. The pastures beneath Stainforth Scar shone like gold lamé carpets. They brought out the poet in me and I penned the following verse – but re-reading it now I wish the poet had stayed inside and had another glass of something strong.
Choose me! Choose me!
Plead the buttercups to a bee.
Come by! Come by!
Hears the languid butterfly.
Hopeful hosts of gold —
Such a sight to behold.
buttercups

goldcarpet
Further up the dale, Dry Beck Farm, which I must have photographed a hundred times, lured me in once more. I made a mental note to put together some kind of time-lapse sequence showing the shot through the seasons … one of those jobs I’ll probably never get round to. There’s a splendid beech tree in one of the fields – its fresh foliage looked vibrant against the meadows, limestone walls and bright blue sky.
pygfarm

beech
Horton was busy with Three-Peakers – must be the time of year for charity fundraisers. Even fans of my footie team, Huddersfield Town, had groups out on the fells raising cash to help deprived youngsters in the Kirklees Community. I thought of those walking the 24 gruelling miles to raise a few pounds to help the under privileged while their idols were idling away their time on a beach somewhere earning up to £??k a week.
I stopped near Selside, close to the spot – a notorious bend on a hill – where a motorcyclist had sadly died after crashing into a road sign just a few days earlier. Last year a few hundred yards away, I came across another accident where a biker was killed. Dales roads weren’t meant for thrill seekers. I mentioned this on Facebook where locals added words of sadness for those involved, their own grief at witnessing and encountering these scenes, and also their annoyance at not being able to get home because of the road closure.
motorcycle
I’m not sure what the collective noun for train photographers is  (an Orak, perhaps?) but when I saw a gathering at Ribblehead I presumed something important must be imminent. Here it is. Anyway, nice view of Whernside. I took in the exhibition at Ribblehead station while I was there – I’d been before but failed to notice the stained glass windows on previous visits. There are several depicting old railway names and emblems plus this one which lines up nicely with Ingleborough.
trainwhern

inglewindow
I motored on through Widdale which seems to be rapidly losing its clothes. the pine and spruce forests planted during the last century are gradually all being replaced by the kind of tree species that once thrived here before Man brought his hatchet into the dale.
Hawes was waking up when I travelled through on Thursday, even the ice cream sales had not begun but the parking chaos had; delivery trucks haphazardly abandoned amongst dirty farm Landrovers and unwary tourists looking for a free spot. The first bus full of grey-haired visitors was attempting to barge its way through to Wensleydale Creamery.
My mission was to try get a decent picture of the Buttertubs. The pass was quiet apart from the sheep who despite having hundreds of square miles of perfectly good moorland to wander over, prefer to meander aimlessly down the middle of the road. The mums appear unkempt at the moment with their fleeces falling apart at the seams. Their ’teenage’ lambs stay a few paces behind looking embarrassed and thinking ‘Is she really going out looking like that? I hope I don’t see any of my friends’.
I was lucky to grab one of the few parking spots at the Buttertubs which were dark and cool and had only a minor fall of water echoing in its depths. I always fear for the road’s foundations here as it spans the chasms but perhaps it’s best not to ponder too long and instead head down into Swaledale. I’ll have to try again at Buttertubs as the pics didn’t turn out too well.
tubbs
Muker was thrang as Throp’s wife; I was passing through to capture the hay meadows and barns. Mainly comprising buttercups and daisies at this time of year the pastures were nevertheless a beautiful sight which I never tire of seeing. Made a mental note to come back shortly for a greater variety of plants.
swalebutter

gunner
Parking near Low Row, I headed for the river on the Crackpot road where I once again gazed enviously at a lovely row of cottages which overlook the Swale and the smart bridge. There’s a delightful path (partially blocked at present due to work by Yorkshire Water) which runs beside the river. The path actually goes along the top of a wall for a 100 yards or so. I felt as though I needed one of those vehicles ahead of me warning oncoming traffic of a ‘wide load’. I’d no need to worry as I didn’t see another soul for the next hour. There’s a nature trail here; flora and fauna abound, there were rabbits, too, and I heard all kinds of birds accompanied by the sound a low, brown river cackling over rocks and mini falls.
cottages

flowersswale

treeflowers
There was a small market in Reeth and every parking spot with a mile radius seemed to be taken, even on the village greens. It’s a pleasant village but I needed a bit more solitude today and headed for one of the glorious passes between Swaledale and Wensleydale.

reethDon’t ask me to pick a favourite road between the two dales because they are all spectacular. On Friday I took the one from Grinton over to Redmire. The lonely isolated grouse moors are certainly not where I’d choose to be on a winter’s night but this day a wonderful place to get out of the car and sit, look and listen to the cries of curlew and lapwing cries and the wind rushing through the heather which was still brown but showing signs of budding in sheltered area.
The previous day I’d taken on the pass between Askrigg and Muker/Gunnerside where I came face to face with a car on a 1 in 4, 45 degree bend. The other driver looked terrified so I reversed blindly, praying there was nothing following. Last year I took the Satron road – more of a track really but it is surfaced – which runs parallel to, and joins on to, this one. It’s not signposted and feels like a private road to a farm but it is a public way (I think!). It’s scary and you require a gate-opening passenger and someone to mop your brow. The views of Wensleydale dropping into Askrigg are vast and I was lucky to capture a glimpse of Semerwater across the wide valley.
wensley
Heading back to Ribblesdale I was tempted to park up for a walk to Snaizeholme and see if the red squirrels would come out to pose for me but it was getting late. When I returned home my neighbour’s clematis was basking in the late evening light … sadly, I’ve not seen much of the sun since.
clematis5

Fountains Fell holds no fear today

fountains

Managed to drag myself up Fountains Fell early this morning. First time I’d been up the 2000-footer in around 40 years. I needed plenty of photo stops on the way up. The boggy uneven plateau is just as I remembered it; completely inhospitable and dangerous in low cloud or rain but today conditions were near perfect. The summit is a few hundred strides from the Pennine Way as it heads from Malham to Penyghent. The views were good round 360 degrees but it was the sky that caught my eye for this shot taken from the top looking towards Ribblesdale.

Steaming back in time

steam

I was walking in the rain over the bridge leading from Little Stainforth in Ribblesdale this morning when I heard the distant chugging and whistling of a steam engine. Standing on the bridge and getting totally enveloped by steam as the train passed underneath I was taken back to my childhood. Everything was black and white then of course so I’ve altered my photo to suit the era.

Song of the Dales

curlew

It was a joy to see and listen to the curlews up on the moors between Ribblesdale and Silverdale late this afternoon. the curlew spends summer in this area before following the Ribble to Morecambe Bay in late summer There were quite a few peewits too and I saw one defending its nest against a ragged looking sheep which had wandered too close. This was the best shot I could get of a curlew with my hand-held lens.

Who needs sunshine when you're in the Dales?

knots

I’ve been tweeting more than blogging recently, for no other reason than to judge reaction. Results to follow! Having to sum up a mood or express a feeling in a restrictive tweet is perhaps a good exercise but it’s impossible to put across any kind of personality – in my view anyway.  This lunchtime I traveled the lonely road from Tosside over to Bentham. There was no sunshine and the views didn’t stretch far but the mood was captivating. Looking out from Bowland Knots the recognisible shapes of Ingleborough, Whernside and Gragareth provided a fine silhouette. I’m going to have to start inviting some patient soul out with me on my meanders around the Dales; this seat just begs for an occupant looking wistfully out over the moors. I’ve tried using the camera’s delay-timer in the past, and dashing to an appropriate spot myself, but I always seem to ruin the shot.

seat

Down memory lane in the Dales

allotments

A walk down Watery Lane in Settle today took me on a diversion down Memory Lane. I was reminded of my primary school days some fifty-odd years ago when a wonderful teacher, whose name I forget, used to take the class down a similar lane and into nearby fields. We were townies in the industrial West Riding but behind the school were a few meadows full of buttercups, dandelions and daisies (and cow pats) – and views stretching to the Pennine chain. She introduced us to wild garlic, bluebells, harebells and a host of other wildflowers, all kinds of berries and taught us the names of birds. On warm days we would create daisy chains. This was the era of Famous Five adventures; Swallows and Amazons, when the sun always shone and life-long friendships were created. Sadly, those times, along with the school and the meadows, are now gone; and teachers for one reason or another are unable to provide this kind of education. I moved from that area in my teens and am now lucky enough to live permanently amongst beautiful country lanes and meadows in Ribblesdale. The photo shows a view from Watery Lane over the allotments to Upper Settle (the last time I inquired, there was a two-year waiting list for one of these plots – a shame more land can’t be used in this way instead of being sat upon by landowners waiting to make a fat profit).