LEJOG Day 50: Malham to Horton-in Ribblesdale

Weather: Driving rain and sleet with freezing northerly

Distance covered today: 21.0km (12.9mi)

Last night's B&B: Beck Hall (£50)

Cumulative distance: 980.8km (609.4mi)/ % Complete: 51.3%

GPS satellite track of today's route: Day 50 (click!)

What a contrast! The last leg was a genteel stroll through English countryside in the summer sunshine. Today was a struggle over isolated moors in driving rain and sleet with a bitter northerly wind. The moorland was as beautiful as ever, but to get there, and after scaling the limestone barrier of Malham Cove, I had to negotiate my way across the face of the cove. This is known as a limestone “pavement”, which was formed by a glacier polishing the stone, which was then further burnished by a waterfall from the melting glaciation. Mix in a bit of rain, and the result was a surface that behaved just like ice! I was yet again very grateful for having four feet, or more specifically, two walking poles. On numerous occasions they saved me from painful falls.

Again I must pay tribute to the three ladies in my life who were responsible for me taking up the poles. Anna was the one who insisted that they would make a huge difference on the slopes. Veronica endorsed Anna’s position and never missed an opportunity to reinforce it. And Marion took me by the hand into the shop, presented me with the poles and made me buy them!  I was never more grateful to all three of them than today.

Eventually, I made it over the limestone face of the cove to the so-called “karst” landscape beyond. This is very stony ground, consisting of haphazard lumps of limestone with bits of grass in between and it is difficult terrain to traverse, but eventually this gave way to lovely grassland, reminiscent of the grassland associated with the South Downs in Sussex. The Way led past Malham Tarn, where I reflected that I was now very close to Ilkley and its tarn, as well as its moor. My family moved to Ilkley when I was three years old, and we lived there, off and on, for four years. My earliest memories come from there, and indeed, some of my fascination with the moors may well be by association with those early memories.

Certainly, Malham Tarn is a very beautiful and peaceful place, and I thoroughly enjoyed walking through the woods on the other side of the tarn and out onto open moorland once more. I was just contemplating a rather intimidating climb up the shoulder of Fountains Fell, when I heard somebody right behind me. It turned out to be a man called Braz and his dog Shirley. We walked together for a while, until it became obvious that Braz was considerably fitter, more stable on his pins and more experienced than me, and I suggested that he go ahead, but he chose not to do so and altered his pace to fit with mine. Braz is a man of few words and we walked through that stunning landscape, both appreciating it greatly, but saying little.

I did ask him what he did, and after thinking in silence for a while, he said he walked. That apparently is mostly all he does, and always with his little dog, Shirley, who sported a wonderful jacket affair with a handle on top of it that Braz used to lift her over stiles and other obstacles. We walked on in silence, while the rain hammered down and turned to sleet, and the wind whistled through my webbing. Eventually we came across three men cowering from the elements behind a wall. We walked together for a while, with Braz leading the way and the rest of us trooping after him. Eventually Braz, who was on a circular walk headed off back to his starting point, leaving me and the threesome to continue the walk.

From their conversation, it became obvious that they were city folk and indeed they told me they were from the soft south where they lived in the Home Counties and commuted to the City. At least one of them was a banker – I suspect they all were. They spoke in clipped Oxbridge Received English and they exuded self-confidence and authority. That said, they were perfectly good company and rather more talkative than Braz.  Apparently they go on a walking weekend once a year and have been doing so for years. In many ways I recognised my own erstwhile colleagues in their bearing and attitude. They were simply amazed that I was doing LEJOG and I could readily see that such an activity could never fit into their busy lives. So be it….

Tonight, I am staying in Horton-in-Ribblesdale, at the end of the first third of the Pennine Way. I am amazed that it has gone so quickly and that I have coped so far. I think the hardest part is yet to come, and I’m still not convinced that I have what it will take. But at least I have made it this far, so my intention is just to plod on (and hope for better weather!)

A vintage tractor rally in Malham

Malham Cove, showing the sheer limestone cliff

The limestone pavement

"Karst" above Malham Cove

A row of Sycamore trees behind the tarn

Malham Tarn and the hunting lodge that was built by Lord Ribblesdale

The tarn

Back on the beautiful moors

Braz and Shiley, his dog

Pen-y-Ghent