Ilkley to Shipley, bah t’at.

What a day. Perfect weather, fabulous views, good conversations, a lunchtime pint, a Hockney exhibition, and a ‘Bradford’ curry at night.

We start in the bustling upmarket town of Ilkley. It is a simple matter of walking uphill from the centre. I stop to buy a pie from an artisan butcher, but I am not tempted by all the coffee shops,  outdoor pursuits outlets, or even bookshops. This is a prosperous place.

Leaving the shops, follow your nose uphill on a wide boulevard flanked by substantial residences. At one point, I enter a path alongside a ghyll in the centre of the road.  How lovely, greenery and water.

I reach the edge of town after 300 feet of climbing,  a seat to eat my breakfast pie. Then it is straight onto the moor. The often stepped path offers no let-up. I stop to talk to a lady exercising her dog. She is admiring the view. We exchange pleasantries and move on, only to re-engage at the next viewing (get-your-breath-back) break in the path. We are both revelling in the warmth and clarity of the day.

After several of these stops, our conversation shifts. She is visiting her mother, and I explain my three-day route. Further on, as the views over Ilkley improve, I mention I’m struggling to find accommodation in Otley for Friday night, or rather, I won’t pay £150 for a room. She generously offers to put me in contact with a friend who lives there and would probably be amenable to providing a room for the night. I exchange phone numbers in case that could become necessary.

A little further up is White Well Spring bathing house. Unfortunately, it is not open today until the flag is flying. All very quaint. T’internet comes up with this.

I wonder – is this an old cross base close to the well?

 

My new friend disappears to visit her mother, and I fall in step with a couple from Selby as they do a modest circuit of the moor for the first time. It’s one of those days when everyone is in an ebullient mood.

Distinct paths weave around through the bracken and heather. We seem to choose one of the steeper ones, gaining height above Rocky Valley. I remember traversing this area looking for one of the Stanza Stones curiously located in a stream. I don’t bother to look for it today.

There is more halting to look back.

People are everywhere, strolling, walking dogs, and jogging. I envy the younger runners striding through this expansive landscape.

The path passes a few ancient waymarkers or boundary stones. This must have been an important trading route between valleys.

I arrive at a familiar place, the Twelve Apostles, a stone circle with, you’ve guessed it, 12 outer stones.

Turning my back on Wharfedale, I start my slow and long descent into Airedale. A Red Kite glides overhead, and there are frequent cries of ‘go back, go back’ from the resident grouse.

I come to a road, and opposite is a pub. Dick Hudson’s a famous hostelry, dating back to the 17th century, originally the Fleece,  on the packhorse route from Ilkley to Bingley. One couldn’t walk past it without paying one’s respects to history with a pint of Leeds Pale –  “light, hoppy and deeply refreshing”.

Down through what I call horsey fields, I have been following the Dales Way Link without realising it; this is the first obvious sign. I don’t think I have used the Welcome Way at all.

Reaching the top end of Shipley Glen. I choose the east side, hoping to spot some of the gritstone boulders I have played around on in the past. The sandy track winds through the dying bracken, a little too close to the road. I don’t think there is a track by the stream at the base of the glen. All looks very overgrown below.

I drag myself away from the rocks and enter the woods.

The track brings me out into a housing estate, and I’m soon by the River Aire. A well-used path follows it through fields and a park to the bridge at Salt’s Mill.

 

Fortuitous timing, considering all my dallying, gives me an hour before the Mill exhibitions close. I skip the first two floors and head up to the latest David Hockney installations. ‘New looking fresh pictures of a very beautiful world.’

A six-screen view of his iPad brushstrokes, “10th – 22nd June 2021, Water Lilies in the Pond with Pots of Flowers.”

 

Twenty Flowers for 2025. “This is photographic but is in no way an ordinary photograph”

And a nine-screen video of Woldgate Woods, 2010.

A few more Hockney paintings on display on the ground floor. 

I only have to stroll down the canal towpath to reach my bed for the night at the Travelodge.You know what you are getting: at a fair price.

I go out early in search of a curry. Several restaurants are close by;  I choose the least glamorous one, on the basis that the more they spend on trendy decor, the less attention they pay to the cooking. My plain cafe-style restaurant proves a good choice and is very popular with the locals – they are turning customers away as the evening progresses. There is something very comforting about two bowls, one mixed veg and the other tarka dahl, and chapatis. ‘Bradford’ curries have a different and distinctive flavour to my usual ‘Blackburn’ fare.

I sleep well. 

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