subject: Buckden Bridge [print this page] So, at nine fifty I set out alone, with HSo, at nine fifty I set out alone, with H. and Kay to wave me Godspeed from Buckden Bridge. I intended to keep up at a steady three miles an hour twelve miles, half an hour for sandwiches; my reckoning timed arrival at the journey's end around two o'clock. The best laid plans . . . I cannot have spent longer than ten minutes in Hubberholme church, in the spirit of a little pilgrimage, nor more than five chatting with the woman at Rais Gill. The farm is at the foot of the Horse Head Pass.
Here, when in doubt, one asks for direction as we once did, and has the steep windings of the way pointed out .. The ancient track climbs above Hagg Gill, stretches out on the fell, into wild tops raked by icy winds or blinding sleet; the bones of sheep lost in winter storms are strewn about the way as carrion crows have left them. So it was one wintry day when we walked from Deepdale to Halton Gill. Today the conditions would be kinder to walkers choosing that route. After Yockenthwaite, Deepdale, Pry Barn and, at the beck meetings, Beckermonds (or Beggarmans as one reads the tomb stones in Hubberholme churchyard). Oughtershaw Beck comes in from the north; my way and Greenfield Beck from the west.
All this wild region from which Wharfe her full fountain takes is Langstrothdalein the days of the hunting Cliffords a most complete forest, one of the wildest parts of Yorkshire. All the farms and hamlets passed on my road today were hunting lodges of the forest days, the homes of keepers with names not uncommon today Calvert, Fal shawe, Forster, Lodge and Jake.
In 1499 the population was estimated at around 288. Today this gay, vividly coloured upland of bronze, tawny orange, blues and indigo was mine alone. The sun was warm when I paused to eat my sandwiches, the air soft and scented, so that I began to think of primroses, and lambs, and green meadows, though streaks of snow still showed on the mountains. At Greenfield are two farms (once hunting lodges), and from one came two lads armed with sticks giving chase to a bull. My heart missed a beat. But they headed him off into a bull coppy, and I breathed again. One lad waved to me. How's your friend's foot this morning? he shouted. The knight errand of Kidstones Pass I The track following the dwindling beck veered south and west, climbing and reaching the watershed. The encircling hills, High Greenfield Knott, Cosh Inside, Cosh Outside, purple a short time ago, are suddenly blurred by a scurrying shower, and snow begins to fall.
Where now is March of the April face? Where the sky of blue Where the primrose light on the fells? A blinding snowstorm is around, sky and fell are one and I a very small and helpless mortal in the midst of it. It was not an unpleasant feeling however. The stony track was hard underfoot; I could not lose it. I plodded on, felt the way climb and realized I had come to the watershed. At one o'clock my own dale was ahead in thinning snow.
