Outfit used
2007 Argente 480-2 towed with
2007 Subaru Legacy Estate 3.0 Automatic
I was excited. I was heading north up the M6 towards some of Britain's most beautiful walking country, and I couldn't wait to pull on my hiking boots. As I crossed the Yorkshire Dales National Park boundary towards Hawes, I wondered who could resist the magnetic pull of the scars, crags and fells. The spell of the Dales is simply captivating. It's an area that seems to have secreted itself away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the country, from the GR red postboxes and telephone boxes that adorn the lanes, to the five-digit numbers you'll find in those phone boxes.
So it was, with a big grin stretched across my face, that I pitched up at Honeycott Caravan Park in Hawes. Within minutes I had set up my Avondale Argente 480-2 and, cuppa in hand, was gazing out over rugged humps of limestone crag cloaked with greens, brown and purple, crossed from top to bottom by the dry stone walls so characteristic of the area. The sinking sun that burnished the sky a glowing red meant I would have to wait till the morning before I could don my walking boots.
It also signalled that it was time for tea. Here's a word of warning for people visiting the Dales from any sprawling metropolis: come prepared. I had a new van and had not stocked up on the necessaries for comfortable touring before setting off, so I needed to visit the supermarket. I went to find Kelvin, the helpful site owner at Honeycott, but the news he had for me was anything but helpful. The nearest supermarket was 18 miles to the east in Leyburn, he told me. Having driven 300 I didn't fancy driving another 36.
"That's not so bad. When we need a big shop we have to go to Lancaster," he said consolingly. I'm sure I'd passed signs for these an hour and
a half ago, back on the M6. Was this some northern joke being played on the hapless southerner? The look on his face told me that
it wasn't.
No matter, I'd pick up a packet of pasta from the local Spar. I might not be able to have the luxuries but at least I'd be able to get the essentials. But even this turned out to be an ambition too far. The door was locked and the lights were dimmed. Amid the notices for a number for a dry stone waller, and one for the comings and goings of the local gun club resided a closed sign, informing me that the convenience store inconveniently shuts at 6pm on a Monday.
To complain about this sort of thing really misses the point: life is slower, people don't work till 11pm, and you have to adapt your modus operandi from 'I want it now' to 'I'll enjoy whatever I can get'. And who could moan at being forced to have dinner down the pub?
I ordered a steaming plate of Beef Trench,
a Yorkshire Pudding, piled with tender slices
of roast beef and veggies, and a pint of locally brewed Black Sheep. With the change from
a tenner in my pocket and some top grub in
my belly my sleep that night was sound.
Guilt from my gastronomic excess woke me the next day like a gong in my head. It was time to get out and about and burn some calories.
I was meeting up with my friend Mathew Kinsell from Catterick Caravans just 25 miles down the road in Richmond. It couldn't hurt to have a guide with a bit of local knowledge.
is something of a 'metropolis' in Dales' terms, so it makes a good base. There is the Spar, of course, a rather smart grocery store,
a plethora of pubs and a chemist and an
all-important fuel station (which will accommodate a car and caravan). It's also a pleasant walk from here to some fantastic Dales features, most notable of which is Hardraw Force.
We headed to the which houses the tourist information centre, and picked up a free map of the pathways to Hardraw. It's about two miles to Hardraw but you can extend the walk by a couple of miles by heading over to Sedbusk. The most navigationally challenged walker could find their way to Hardraw thanks to clear paths and lots of helpful signs. This means you have plenty of time to relax and enjoy the sweeping scenery of Wensleydale.
It's an excellent National Park; all the routes are well signed, there are loads of cheap walking guides at information offices that detail easy-to-follow routes packed with info about the nature. All the trail furniture is in tip-top condition, even if some of the wall styles were originally constructed for lithe and athletic Dalesmen to squeeze through, so go easy on the Yorkshire curd tart.
Once in head for the Green Dragon Pub, not because you'll have deserved a pint for your efforts, as the walk is not difficult – we saw one woman doing it in wedge heels, of course she was a local, only us townies get kitted out in the latest shiny new hiking gear
to tackle the 'wilds' of the countryside. The waterfall is on private land behind the pub, so handing £2 per person to the barman allows you access to England's highest single-drop cascade. And it's worth the admission fee.
The 30-metre drop causes the water to pummel the rocks below; carefully climb the path around it and stand behind it to appreciate the force with which the water pounds the limestone. We stood in a sort of stunned silence as we gazed hypnotised at the falling water. But shake yourselves awake and look beyond the water to what is truly fascinating, the rocks. You approach the waterfall from a woodland trail with crags on each side, but somehow the glacier that cut its way through this landscape seemed to make
a diversion and carve a cul-de-sac which is
now the waterfall. Behind the water is an amphitheatre composed of myriad hues: greys and blacks and pinks and beiges, striping, jutting and overlaying each other.
This area is a geologist's dream. In fact, it was also a geologist's birthplace. Adam Sedgwick, was born in 1785 in Dent, which was our next destination. is a lovely little Dales town that's actually not so characteristic. The whitewashed houses that line the cobbled streets stand at odds with the more dour buildings that dot the landscape elsewhere. In the centre of town stands a hulk of pink shap granite paying tribute to the life of the geologist we had come to track down. A stroll along the cobbled streets and through the lanes of whitewashed buildings reveals I am not alone in my love of the hills. The fine weather had brought the ramblers out in force, befleeced, besticked and bebooted. Suppressing the urge to join them I pressed on to the .
The museum is a fascinating little hidey hole packed to the gunnels with all manner of treasures collected from the people of Dent through the ages that reveal the life and heritage of the local people. You can learn about the Terrible Knitters of Dent, who were called such not because they were responsible for Giles Brandreth-style crimes against knitwear, but because they knitted with an unrivalled fury and speed.
I was particularly interested in the Weather Lore panel, which described how the Dalesmen and women learnt to predict the weather by observing the signs of nature. Amid the more recognisable warnings about the weather on St Swithen's Day was one I hadn't heard of. "As the day lengthens, the cold strengthens..." Or maybe they just made that up this year.
Hidden among the Victorian weighing scales and cash tills and menagerie of stuffed animals was the shrine to Adam Sedgwick. He spent his childhood walking the Dales and trying to work out how it all came to be. What vexed him the most was why the hills outside Sedbergh are so different. Those to the west were the typical 'Dales' – green, smooth mounds flat-topped by craggy summits. The hills to the west are darker more jagged and look like they belong somewhere else.
He worked out that the landscape anomaly was caused by plate action that sent the Dales crashing into the granite of the Lake District. Between the two sits the Dent Fault, which is apparently still rumbling away so if you feel any movement, it's not the wind above your van but the ground beneath it. So forget the M6 border between the two national parks, the Lake District really starts in Yorkshire.
I wonder what the Cumbrians have to say about that? To see for yourself pick up a leaflet, as we did, from one of the park information centres for £1 and follow the steps of the Sedgwick trail which start from the viewpoint on the A684 about three miles from Sedbergh.
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