June 25, 2004: Cam Houses to Dent
Viaduct near Gearstones
It was a matter of great delight to see the sun shining brightly on the moorland as I rose (always too early on this trip) for the fourth day of our expediton. I shaved in the nearby bathroom, prepared my pack for the Sherpa folk and reported for breakfast at 8:30. While Tosh was settling up both Margie and I went outside for some photography – including a shot of a terrier chained to a wall.
We began a twelve and a half mile day at 9:40, a continuation of the wet trod in moorland that had got us here the day before. A faint path lead over to the conifer plantation (a bit too soon, I thought) but I knew we had to round the upper corner of this green, impenetrable mass and so we climbed steeply up its margins, slanting off to the left when we had reached a track and then continuing up another path toward the skyline –where I could see three walkers heading north on the Pennine Way. I was the first to reach Cam High Road, where there was a signpost atop a cairn, and I must say it was an exhilarating moment.
Wainwright says that here Pennine Way walkers walk in the footsteps of the Romans but today I was walking in my own footsteps – for it was thirty years ago this summer that I had ventured forth on my very first walk in England. On that day, the third and last that I was able to accomplish on that trip, I was walking on a sore knee in miserable misty weather and I remember the shock, a short distance to the north, of seeing far below me a tiny red mail van inching along a farm road with a delivery for Cam Houses (Ian Wallace had noted that even today deliveries are made to his establishment only if there is first class post; for most mail he was using an address in Leeds).
Things could not be more different today, with bright sunny skies and great views in all directions – particularly striking were the quarries above Horton. Tosh took “after” pictures of me with Ingleborough and Penyghent in the background and we headed south along the PW for a little over a mile – turning to the right to follow a rutted and uncomfortable track toward Holme Hill. We could already see a viaduct of the Settle-Carlisle line ahead of us and we also paused on the bridge over Gayle Beck.
Then we climbed up to the B6255 and turned south briefly, leaving this road for the access track to Winshaw Farm. Here Tosh chatted with a young blonde woman who was hanging out her washing and we climbed up beside the farmstead to reach an occasionally juicy track over Gayle Moor. We hadn’t gotten very far when, at noon, we paused for the first part of our lunch. I ate a tuna sandwich prepared the day before yesterday by the kitchen staff in the King’s Head in Kettlewell.
We had a stone wall as our accompaniment for quite some time and then, after passing High Gayle Farm below us on our right, we continued across open country to reach a junction with a track named Black Rake Road. This provided fairly easy and level walking as we crossed Blea Moor and Stoops Moss, edging ever closer to a motor road on which we could see an antique car chugging along.
On this stretch we passed the boundary between Yorkshire and Cumbria and, as the road was reached, there was a sense that now we were entering a new, western countryside – with the deep valley of Dentdale opening up with every step down the highway. There was another pine plantation on our left and, at the bottom, the dramatic Dent Head Viaduct – which we soon reached in order to begin a mostly level, extended period of road walking in lovely surroundings.
Along the Dee
The River Dee was a lively presence, first on our left and then, after we had crossed a bridge, on our right. There wasn’t much traffic as we passed though the hamlet of Cowgill, but I had noted that there was a pub in Cow Dub. I was afraid it might have closed, for we arrived just after 2:00, but, in fact, it hadn’t opened – not for noontime trade at any rate. A disappointed Tosh (who nevertheless managed to use the loo here) spoke to the proprietor who said that he had stopped opening in the afternoon after the foot and mouth epidemic had ruined his trade. The foot and mouth disaster had affected many aspects of the local economy. One accommodating cab driver had told us that he had lost his b&b due to a decline in bookings as well.
I was sitting on a wall opposite the pub, my back to the river, studying my maps, when the women returned from their comfort stops. Just as this moment I was struck on the head by a duck! Margie could see an explosion of green feathers but we could never figure out whether this was an accident or malice. I don’t think either party was injured.
Stolidly we marched forward, passing the Lea Yeat bridge and heading ever westward. I told Tosh, who was just going into ecstasies over the discovery of roadside gooseberries, that we had a choice of routes. We could continue forward for some time on a minor road or climb above it for a tortuous passage through woods and farmland with some 13 stiles. She chose the road (stiles didn’t need the extra help, easily defeating gates 23-12 today). This was pleasant countryside with wildflowers growing along the hedgerows and we made good progress before being rejoined by the official route shortly before we left our road for a descent across a recently mowed hayfield. Here we had lunch part two; a meager ham sandwich was its highlight.
We crossed Nelly Bridge to the north bank of the Dee and crossed several stiles to reached Tommy Bridge, where we crossed to the south side once again. Walking had been easy, though we were getting tired, but now we had to strike off half left, climbing a hill without much assistance from the waymarkers (though Marsh’s suggestion to aim to the left of an attractive group of trees did help) and, once atop, descending to Mill Bridge. Here we found a path along Deepdale Beck and used this to return to the Dee. There were lots of people about and, as the first glimpses of Dent showed through the trees, a man walking a well-trained Labrador, who froze on command just as we again left the river.
Stiles brought us back at Church Bridge but here we abandoned the DW and followed the road uphill into the town. Tosh went into a food shop to see when it would open the next day and, satisfied with this intelligence, we circled the churchyard and experienced the cobbled streets of this ancient and picturesque village. The George and Dragon signs were still covered in football-inspired English flags when we arrived at 5:10.
Dent church
We made dinner reservations and had a drink from an accommodating bar girl before heading upstairs to our en suite rooms. I had a shower and a rest and then Margie and I had a nice stroll through the churchyard and into the church and along the back streets of this charming place. We met a friendly red cat. A choir from Zimbabwe was rehearsing in the village hall. At 7:00 we returned to the bar, where Tosh had been anxiously waiting for some word from the injured Harold – whose precise whereabouts we still did not know.
Dinner was a bit of a disaster. The chef was new, the staff didn’t know anything about the offerings, and to see the specials you had to get up and return to the bar. Long periods passed before any food appeared – the chap at the next table had to wait an hour and a half for his wife’s duck. My chicken in wine sauce was tasty enough and there were plenty of potatoes and veg – though Tosh has no patience for mange tout.
None of these problems rivaled the anxiety which that lady was now experiencing about the missing Harold and the entire meal was spent mapping strategies – should she call the Windermere police, the local hospitals? In the event she did call the cabbie who was supposed to find him a hotel but the news here was of no help – Harold had asked to be left off at tourist information – which was now closed. Every time the phone rang Tosh would leap from her seat, convinced that no one would answer it or that it was bad news. Finally, at about 8:30, Harold called. He had done so the night before at Cam Houses but was his message that “everything is all right” had been relayed to Tosh in such a fashion that she thought this was someone calling from Iowa. This time she was able to get a hotel address from him and, much relieved that he reported he was feeling better, we all went into the bar for after-dinner drinks. (No one was willing to wait another half hour for dessert.)
I had two Baileys on ice and the girls drank Tia Maria. The bar (which banned smoking until after nine) was soon very crowded and in an anteroom the billiards players were silenced by a folk group which began to perform as well. At 10:00 or so we went upstairs for a well-deserved rest.
To continue with the next stage our walk you need: