Sunday’s walk definitely came into the talking category. i had been trying to arrange a trip with friends up to White Hill, in the heart of the Bowland Hills, whilst the dry weather lasted but had been frustrated by a few wet weekends. There is no point going up there in bad weather with no views. I can be flexible with the days to fit the forecast but my friends, having to work because of the dour pensions situation, can’t.
So plan B was devised to do a low level walk easily accessible to us all. Even so we cancelled the Saturday because of heavy rain – glad we did. Sunday dawned dull but an arranged leisurely [10.30 AM] meet at East Marton seemed perfect as the day improved and blue sky appeared.
The usual suspects were involved. A the salesman. D the adviser. H the pieman. J the navigator [unfortunately me]. B the rock man never appeared.
D H and J assembled at the rendezvous at the appointed time. No sign of the usually punctual A. The call came through – he had turned right instead of left and ended up on the far side of Skipton. Being benevolent we waited for him to reappear, at speed, along the A 59. No mercy was spared on the comments on his navigational deficiencies.
A “raggle-taggle, beggarly crew” set off along the road to pick up our first bridleway. As this led off the main road there was obviously a problem with those people who, mistakenly, rely on their ‘sat-navs’
I dread to think what happens if you drive your HGV down this bridleway. It leads into the undulating back country on the edge of the Yorkshire Dales. This area was a blast from the past for me as I spent many childhood holidays with my cousins on a farm, Stainton House, not half a mile from here. Great memories of a carefree time. The views today, despite our moderate elevation, were wide ranging… the Three Peaks, the Bowland hills, Pendle, Weets Hill and the Craven Fells… we seemed to be in the centre of them. By now the banter was in full swing and we were catching up on our relevant illnesses and life crises. So minor details such as finding the correct path away from the delightful Ingthorpe Grange were ignored.
Ingthorpe Grange
Only much later did we realise our [or my, the navigator! ] mistakes. Actually not that much later – we had only gone about a mile and a half – mainly at right angles to our intended route. It was however ‘easy’ to cut up a field to a road in our direction – unfortunately there was a major problem as this was blocked further on by engineering works.
Some barbed wire walking got us through and we bypassed the grounds of Gledstone Hall to reach a road at a known point. One of the problems was trying to navigate using a 1:50,000 map, 1:25,000 are almost essential for this type of rural walking. It must also be said that there was a distinct lack of FP signing in this whole estate area but our lack of concentration due to chatting was the main problem.
Now on farm lanes we made better progress but with less than a third of the walk completed it was unanimously decided to stop for lunch, it was well past mid-day. H the pieman had the best sandwiches. D the adviser was rather gloomy about interest rates. A the salesman had no luck. J the navigator kept quiet in view of his mistakes so far. Shame B the rock man wasn’t present to explain what we were sitting on. We enjoyed the stroll through the hidden hamlet of Horton with its lovely spruced up stone properties.
Crossing the busy A59 at Monks Bridge proved difficult with the heavy traffic flow. Back in attractive rolling fields gave good walking, but finding the way and stiles was again difficult with our map and lack of any signing. It didn’t look as though these paths were walked often.
The town of Barnoldswick was straight ahead and that is where I had planned to join the Leeds – Liverpool Canal at Greenberfield Locks for the last few miles.
Yet again we circumambulated [big word for went astray] and arrived in a park in town, from where we seemed to take back streets through the Rolls Royce Factory to eventually get onto the canal bank. Having checked we were heading in the right direction it was another mile before we reached the popular Greenberfield Locks.
From here the canal weaves its docile way through the rural land. More walkers and cyclists were encountered, a few canal boats drifted by. Everyone seemed cheerful in the warm sunshine. You know when you are back at East Marton by the double arched bridge, 161, over the canal.
This famous feature is a result of different road levels over time. Just above is the popular Cross Keys pub which made a perfect end to the day. They serve Copper Dragon ales from the brewery in Skipton. We enjoyed a final chat over a pint of Sun Chaser, their limited edition light summer beer. On reflection, maybe a ‘sat-nav’ would be a good idea.
For a map view of our 12miles wander………………..
Third time lucky. Things have changed in the tiny hamlet of Feizor where you always felt you were intruding into the residents’ private territory. Someone has opened a tea room which is proving very popular. The added benefit of this is that lots of parking spaces have been provided in a yard whereas in the past parking was fraught. Honesty box for the Air Ambulance, you never know when you might need them. 
It’s a short pleasant walk up to the limestone crag of Pot Scar in the midst of classic Dales scenery, rolling green fields and all those stone walls. In the background is Ingleborough and across the valley distant Pendle and the Bowland Fells. Wary of the polished routes on the main face [I recall climbing here 40 years ago and witnessing that polish developing gradually on the classic lines of Nirvana, Addiction, LSD etc, there was a name theme here] we head left to a little buttress with routes suitable for us oldies. The sun is shining and the day warms up quickly despite there still being a brisk wind. The first easy climb is on perfect cracked limestone with no hint of polish, maybe nobody climbs this end. For the second climb I become entangled in trees and vegetation on what would have been a good line, Dave admonishes me for all the delay gardening. Lunch is taken in the sunshine looking at the scenery with the occasional party of walkers going through to Stainforth, no other climbers appear. I next enjoy a steep crack climb with quite reachy moves and the usual grassy mantelshelf near the top. Despite warnings of loose rock Dave quickly climbs a crack, a tree and a flake, as I follow a lot of the holds disintegrate. Another steep crackline and we are ready for home but well satisfied with the day’s climbing. Next time we will visit the cafe and then try the polish.
