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| THE STEEP END OF PEN-Y-GHENT |
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| MALHAM TARN |
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| RIVER FROM NOWHERE - MALHAM COVE |
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| BARGES ON LEEDS & LIVERPOOL CANAL AT GARGRAVE |
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| SOME SHEEP ARE UGLIER THAN OTHERS |
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| 'WUTHERING HEIGHTS' PLAQUE AT TOP WITHINS |
Other than stopping to chat to a few people as we pass, the walk is quite ordinary until I reach Malham Tarn Nature Reserve with its beautiful vistas comprising a wonderful interplay of water, limestone crags and trees. Exposed limestone features strongly in the landscape here, and as I continue south I pass though the rocky Ing Scar valley and walk across a natural limestone pavement until I reach the dramatic sheer walls of Malham Cove where, like magic, the river flows out from under the base of the cliff.
I'd expected to pick up some food for the evening in Malham village but had dawdled so much that it was just after 5.00pm when I arrived and only the pub was open, and they didn't serve meals until 6.00pm. They did have a sandwich and a pasty available at the bar, though, so after washing these down with a Strongbow cider, I continued my trudge south. I found an ideal wild-camping spot in an animal-free field just as the light was beginning to fade, and erected my tent quickly in the rain.
My camping spot was just a mile north of Gargave, so in the morning I strolled down to pick up some supplies in the local Co-op and have breakfast in the Dalesman Cafe, where several folk gave me money for the charities. These shops would be the last I would see during the day. As I passed through Thornton-in-Craven, Lothersdale and Ickornshaw, the initially promising weather deteriorated into rain again. It was a shame because in dry, clear conditions these rolling hills with potentially good views would have provided a much more pleasant walk.
Crossing boggy and exposed Ickornshaw Moor in heavy rain was, quite frankly, miserable. I was glad to get across it and down to the safety of Ponden Reservoir. The light was disappearing fast by then and the ground around the Reservoir sloped steeply, but after stepping over a fence into the grounds of the local Boat Club I found a level plot suitable for the tent. I'm sure they wouldn't have minded had they known. The rain beat down heavily on the fly-sheet as I took off all my wet gear before getting my head down.
The morning of Sunday 30 August was another soggy one and the prospect of better weather seemed unlikely. After warming myself up with a cup of hot coffee, I put all my wet gear back on whilst flicking off, from the inside of the tent, all the slugs I could see crawling up the transparent inner sheet. One slug had slithered its way right up to the apex. I find it remarkable that a slug should go to all this effort when there is no food to be had at the top. Perhaps, like us, they sometimes feel compelled do things 'because it's there'.
The walk south took me into heather covered moorland again, but not with the same cold and sinister feel as Ickornshaw Moor. I am in 'Bronte country', and arrive shortly at the ruin of Top Withins, said to have been the inspiration for Emily Bronte's 'Wuthering Heights'. Further on I came to the three Walshaw Dean reservoirs and turned south at the middle one, temporarily leaving the Pennine Way. My reason for this is that I need to resupply with food for the next couple of nights using the ample facilities at Hebden Bridge, which the Pennine Way skirts around. My detour took me across Walshaw and Lancashire Moor, and past Hardcastle Crags.
Hebden Bridge is an old Mill Town, once prosperous because of the cloth trade. With its railway, canal, tall chimneys and terraced houses, it still has the appearance of a town created in the Industrial Revolution, which I rather liked.
Having completed my shopping and consumed a tasty take-away of Haddock and Chips, I continued on, rejoining the Pennine Way a mile south of the town. However, the weather started to deteriorate badly again. I could barely see the monument atop Stoodley Pike, and walking alone on the raised bank alongside the Warland, Light Hazzles and Blackstone Edge Reservoirs was spooky because all I could see was the cold black water which eerily seemed to beckon me to “come in, come in” !!!!!
At last I reached the A58 which cuts straight through the moors. It was 7.30pm by then and I decided that, with darkness approaching, to continue my walk over the exposed moorlands in thick fog and driving rain would be both dangerous and foolish. I therefore climbed over the fence of the North West Water compound opposite the White Horse pub and encamped there. As I lay in my tent, I had to admit to myself that the consistently poor weather was beginning to depress me. What I desperately needed was some more sunshine in my life.