Shaun, Tetley, Grizzly
& Little Eric's peace was shattered by Allen bounding in
shouting, "great great great", as he proceeded to do
somersaults round the room.
"Whatever is
going on?", cried Grizzly.
"You've obviously
got something of importance to tell us, so just calm down and get
your breath back first", said Tetley.
"OK",
replied Allen, "and while I do this, pour me a mug of tea,
as I'm...
"Gasping",
interrupted Shaun, letting out a laugh too.
Calmed down, Allen
then went on. "I come bearing good news. Dad had told me
that we are to walk tomorrow. After being ill with kidney stones,
he now feels fully recovered, and able to be out without fearing
he will get another attack."
"Super!",
exclaimed Little Eric. "The three months since we last
walked has seemed interminable."
"Where are we
going?", asked Tetley.
"To Yorkshire, so
that will suit you", replied Allen. "We will start in Clapham
and then walk to Austwick, and on to Feizor, where no doubt Dad
will call in at Elaine's for a snack."
"That's a cast
iron certainty", laughed Grizzly.
"Then it will be
over to Wharfe, before returning along Thwaite Lane, to Clapham",
concluded Allen.
"We have done
some of this before, and there will not be too much climbing, but
that is good as it will break Dad back in gently", added Tetley.
The Walk
It is only about half
an hours drive to Clapham, so we did not have to get up very
early, in contrast to some of the walks last year in the northern
Lake District. The day was bright, although it clouded over somewhat in the afternoon, and there was a cool northerly breeze at
times. We parked in the main National Park car park.
As we have said before,
Shaun is our expert map reader and guide. "Our route is
through that gate, over there, by the signpost", he called out looking up from the map.
This you can see quite
clearly, points the route of the public footpath to Austwick, a
distance of 1.5 miles.
Beyond the gate we
turned left along the concrete track through the farmyard. Cows
were eating straw, and as Dad approached to take their picture,
they looked up warily. "Perhaps they think we are going to steal their food", joked Grizzly.
"At least it is not a sheep picture", said Allen brightly. "I wonder if we will manage to avoid any today?"
"I wouldn't hold out too much hope as this area is sheep country", responded Little Eric.
Keeping ahead where
the track turned right, we entered pasture, through a kissing
gate.
Tetley piped up,
"we did this section last year with Uncle Eric, but in the
opposite direction. There will be quite a few stiles to cross too."
"Lots more later
too, on the section from Austwick to Feizor", added Dad.
"Lets count them
like we have done on walks in the past." went on Grizzly.
"That's a great
idea", said Allen. "You count them and I will note
it down, so we can see how many in total we will cross today."
The path first climbs,
along a sort of shelf by a wire fence to a wall where we
encountered the first of the gated stone step stiles, an example
of which is illustrated below.
Very much open land
with only a few trees, Shaun commenting, "that tree, bare of its
leaves, will make quite a striking shot against the sky."
More stiles followed, the path cresting a rise and passing behind this group to trees. "Another nice shot for the story", said Grizzly.
From here it descended into Austwick, a final stile giving
access to the road.
"That's seven
stiles in all", said Grizzly.
"Noted",
replied Allen.
A footpath sign stood
by the stile, with the direction obviously to Clapham. "Will
you look at that", called out Shaun. "It shows the
distance as 2 miles, but the one at Clapham read 1.5 miles"
"That's odd",
remarked Little Eric
Glancing at his GPS,
Dad said, "the one at Clapham is correct, as the GPS shows
just under 1.5 miles."
Turning left, we
strolled through Austwick, passing the stone built shelter, in which we had sat for our picnic, with Uncle Eric, last year.
"Take the road towards Settle", advised Shaun.
This brought is to Austwick Bridge, carrying the
road over the Austwick Beck.
Grizzly said, "the bridge probably dates from the 18th century and was widened on the downstream side in the 19th century. The arches are separated by triangular cutwaters. The parapet has a stringcourse base with central and flanking pilasters. It is Grade 11 listed."
"Thank you pal. Adding extra interest as always", replied Allen.
"Look at those
lovely snowdrops", called out Little Eric. " A sign
that at last spring is on its way."
Then standing on the
bridge, we surveyed the scene upstream. "That's a fine view
looking towards Long Scar with Moughton in the distance behind", said Tetley. "We climbed Moughton for the second in July last year with Uncle Bob."
The next objective was
Feizor, a distance of 1.75 miles according to the sign just
beyond the bridge, pointing the way along the track Wood Lane. At
the point where this turned away sharply left, Shaun instructed, "it's over that facing stone step stile."
The route led on uphill, Dad keeping to the
lower left side of the rise.
Shaun said, "at
the top we will come to another track, which we just cross, using
the stiles."
He was quite right,
and beyond we climbed on up the hill towards the ladderstile,
seen on the skyline.
"That's a lovely
view of Austwick with Nappa Scars and Norber rising behind",
called out Allen.
Stopping and turning
round Dad said, "you're right."
Very soon now the
ladderstile was reached and climbed.
"That's four
stiles so far on this section", said Grizzly.
"Noted",
replied Allen.
The pastures and cross
walls stretched ahead before us. "We can just see some of the houses in Feizor", pointed Shaun. "The hill to the left behind is called Pot Scar."
So down the hill we
went. Now the observant among you may see that in the next wall
there is a gate, to the left of the ladderstile. The gate would
have saved Dad's legs, but as with a few we encountered today, it
was chained and padlocked shut. Anyway climbing all
those stiles would help Dad to regain the strength he had lost in
his legs, we thought.
Finally we approached
Feizor. "Those are unusual sheep, being completely black", pointed Little Eric.
Searching the Internet later, Shaun told us, "they are Hebridean sheep."
As Dad climbed the last stile to reach the road,
Grizzly said, "in all that's 12 stiles."
"I agree"
replied Allen consulting his notes that he had made each time one had
been climbed.
Dad and Uncle Brian
have been over 100 times to Feizor, indeed they go every Monday,
to enjoy the lovely food and friendly welcome at Elaine's Tea Rooms.
As Dad walked in the
tearooms were quiet, but a quick glance at all the reserved
notices indicated a very busy day ahead. Elaine, Marion, Jean and
Hannah, were enjoying a quiet drink before the storm.
They were
surprised to see him, Elaine saying, "what are you doing here."
"I'm on a walk and have called in with the Lads for a snack", he replied.
He sat chatting to
them all, while enjoying a bacon bun, followed by a piece of rice
crispy cake, washed down with a pot of tea. Ngaio came in shortly
afterwards and did a double take on seeing Dad sitting there.
"Will you take
our picture here, for the story?" asked Shaun.
"For sure",
Dad replied, so we jumped out and sat on the table.
"There was still a long way to go, so after a while Dad said, time to be getting
going again Lads."
We quickly settled in the rucksack and called a cheery goodbye, then turning left walked on through the houses.
"That will make a
nice shot of the pump with the backdrop of the houses and hill",
said Dad taking the camera out of his bag again.
Where the road ends, a
large gate bars the way on to the track beyond. Through this we
climbed steadily the track bending right beside Feizor Wood, and then Wharfe Wood
that in the spring is massed with bluebells - a wonderful sight.
Cresting the top of
the hill, Little Eric exclaimed, "wow, what a superb view of
Pen-y-ghent."
By the sheep pens, is
a junction of paths. "We ignore the track right that goes
behind Smearsett & Pot Scars, but keep on ahead towards Lower
Park House, then shortly climb the stile over the wall on the
left", said Shaun, who was looking closely at the map.
"Thanks lad",
replied Dad.
This fine view of the
hamlet of Wharfe, bathed in sunshine, while Ingleborough darkly
lowers above, was taken from by the stile.
Over the wall the clear way
led steeply down by Wharfe Wood, the cross walls surmounted by
more stiles. Wharfe Gill Syke, that soon joins Austwick Beck, has
to be crossed, and this simple stone bridge allowed this.
"That's seven
stiles so far on this section and looking at the map there will
be one more to cross to reach the road, making eight in all",
said Grizzly.
"Noted",
replied Allen.
At the road it was
left to come to the unsurfaced private road leading into the
hamlet of Wharfe. The houses are dotted about and the tracks can
be rather confusing to follow, especially as the walk
instructions are nearly 30 years old, and a lot can change in
that time. On one section, snowdrops lined the verge.
"We seem to be too
high", remarked Shaun.
"I agree",
replied Dad. "We are on the path that leads into Crummack
Dale, but I know a little further on, when coming from that
direction the path forks. There we cut back left and on along the path down to
the road"
This done and at the road Shaun said, "now turn right."
We had seen lots of sheep, and apart from the Hebridean ones, no others had posed properly for Dad. However one of a number of Swaledales in a field we passed,
obliged. "Oh well", sighed Allen, "that's another sheep picture we will have to include."
The road crossed
Austwick Beck, by Mill Bridge. A house stands by the road here. "I wonder if in the distant past this had been a mill
perhaps for spinning", mused Tetley.
Soon we reached a track going right clearly
signed for Clapham.
"This is Thwaite Lane
with the hurrying Norber Syke running beside", said Shaun. "Our return route."
After an initial level
section, the track climbed steadily. We passed a couple
walking the opposite way, and during the brief conversation, it
turned out that they knew of and had been to Elaine's, enjoying
their visit.
Just before the track crosses the road from Austwick
to Crummack Dale, there was a convenient seat, where we sat for a
little while. Apart from the distant beck, there was absolute
total silence - bliss!!
"We should spare a thought for the staff at
Elaine's, where it must be bedlam, if all the reserved tables were anything to go by", said Grizzly.
Then on along the oft
walked track towards Clapham, with good views of Norber, and Robin
Proctor's Scar, seen here below.
The track reaches its
highest point by a copse of trees called appropriately Summit Clump...
...and then
descends gently towards Clapham, passing through tunnels.
This shot we thought
was somewhat indicative of the economic situation here and indeed
everywhere else in the world, where there is little sign of
things improving, or as the saying goes 'no light at the end of
the tunnel'. It is to be hoped however that the situation will
improve as depicted below.
Just a short walk brought us into the village through which runs Clapham Beck.
Checking his notes, Allen said, "in all there were 27 stiles. I doubt there have been many walks with more. The one from Appleby comes to mind. There were over 30 stiles on that, if I recall correctly.
"They have given the muscles in my legs a good work out", replied Dad.
Now mid afternoon,
Tetley said, "tea time Dad, and of course there is only one place to go of course Elaine's at Feizor."
"How right you are lad", laughed Dad.
The tearoom was still
busy when we arrived, but Hannah kindly brought Dad a pot of tea
and some apple crumble and custard. After a while Elaine spotted
him saying, "Gerry's back". She actually thought he had
walked back, until he explained we had driven over.
The large
parties soon departed and peace reigned once again, but still not
as quiet as that seat on Thwaite Lane.
As we drove home, Allen said, "it has been just so great to be
out again. Thanks Dad."
"We are so glad you are fully recovered and here's to many more on our 2012
campaign", went on Little Eric.
Oh, and what bliss for Uncle Brian, having a lovely
quiet day.