Wensleydale East To West

ONE July evening some years ago when we were newly initiated into the joys of the open road we walked into Hawes, footsore and weary, but very happy

. Sixteen miles on the road from Ingleton, hard miles and each one mile stoned, yet we had enjoyed every yard of it, making many digressions in ChapelleDale, picnicking by the halfway stone whilst rain wreaths played around Ingleborough's head, talking to the haymakers in Widdale, seeing upper Yoredale draw nearer and nearer. Hawes, when we reached it, seemed quite dead, for it was early closing day. Where should we stay?

The local constable came to our assistance. A place for the night? Na then, let me think. I've lasses of mi own and there's places I wouldn't like to think of them sleeping in. After deep consideration, aided by two other helpful folk of Hawes, it was decided we could do no better than the inn at Hardraw, so to Hardraw we went. If the effusion we perpetrated in the Visitors' Book truthfully expressed our feelings that evening it must have been the very best of travellers' rests. Perhaps it was the evening meal pre-war meals in Yorkshire inns did things to one. I know two very contented people sank into soft beds that night lulled quickly to sleep by the music of Hardraw Beck. We fell asleep with the sound of Hardraw Force, muted by distance, in our ears and woke in the morning wondering, till we remembered where we were, if heavy rain was falling.

Before breakfast we visited the falls and impressive they are. The folk who made Hardraw Scar the goal of picnic outings, choir trips, Sunday School treats, in the old days knew a fine bit of scenery when they saw it and in those jolly robustious days none could see why a spot of oratorio or a good old singsong did not improve the place. The ten dency now is to seek out the beauty of beauty spots alone or with chosen companions who can keep quiet enough to hear the Voice of Nature. Our fathers took their scenery much less soberly. Water Music with brass band accompaniment: that was the stuff I That was our first incursion into Wensleydale. Since then we have crossed Widdale Head many times, come in from Garsdale, from Semerdale, Bishopdale, Walden dale and Coverdale, or approached from the north by way of the Buttertubs, Muker Pass, the Fleak, Apedale, and Redmire and Grinton Moors.

On one memorable and rather unpleasant occasion, we dodged the Army from Hart Leap Well to Bellerby. In years of fell walking we have come to love each of these north and south approaches and to rejoice in the sudden contrasts they offer, leading from the stark, wild heights into soft and sylvan lowlands. We have come to love all the family of inconsequential gills and contributory dales which run to the Yore, and the hills and mountains guarding them.

by: Adrian Vultur

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