One down, thirty nine to go

One down and thirty nine to go. Saturday 18th February was the day to take on Whernside.


Whernside held no terror for me, having walked it several times now, it is the most honest of the Three Yorkshire Peaks, with a steady climb all the way up and only a couple of deceitful false summits to catch out the unknowing. Two thing made it interesting this time though, the weather and some small children on the team to add to the fun.

We shall start the tale from the beginning however; as always there is comedic value to the trip.

The team comprised of myself, with son Thomas (9) already a Whernside veteran and daughter Emma (12) joining us for the first time, with regular walking partner Dave Selby, his better and worse half Louise, and Dave's daughter Charlotte (7) making her first challenge at Whernside – in fact her first real distance walk, which I am happy to say she took in her stride (pun intended)

Accommodation was our regular bunk barn in Ingleton, which I will not name for reasons which will become clear shortly. The accommodation was excellent as always, homely, reasonably warm (for reasons which will become clear shortly) and near to local amenities. Taking the smaller of the two available bunk barns meant our group was necessarily limited to the six above, and as it was a half term break for the kids it meant other regular walkers who normally join us were not invited – no slight intended on you guys, but this time there was no room.

The trip started with children picked up from their respective schools with the two halves of the team driving up to Ingleton to meet at the bunk barn, plan “A” being Fish and Chips on arrival. Dave favoured the M62 and A1M route through Skipton on the A65, whilst I went M62 to Bradford, then up to Skipton via Keighley, thereby missing out York and Harrogate on the alternative routes, both being horribly bottle necked at rush hour, which would be when we would hit them. In the event there was little in it, Bradford was bottle necked and junction 30 on the M62 had tailbacks due to roadworks, but I arrived at around five past seven, 25 minutes ahead of the Selby car.

Quickly booking in and getting hold of the key we headed for the chippy only to discover it had closed at 7p.m. (winter opening hours) Never mind, adapt and overcome – the local Coop came up trumps with oven chips and frozen fish portions – not quite the same, but palatable and certainly well received as the children hadn’t eaten since lunch and I hadn’t eaten since 5 a.m. the morning before due to being on night shift. After a video the children were settled and a couple of videos and several beers later it was somehow magically 2 a.m. and I retired to bed. Thus is the life of a shift worker – time is irrelevant. We eat when we are hungry, sleep when we are tired and complain when we are awake.

Dawn broke at around 7 a.m. but I suspect that was because the kids had been fiddling with it for an hour or so. Or perhaps it shattered because of the noise of the farm cockerel which chooses to crow loudly wherever Louise sleeps – it disturbed her at stupid o’clock when she was tenting at the same site last year, and the tents are separated some distance from the caravans and barn, so it obviously sought her out on some vindictive vendetta. Bleary eyed we set about preparing the full English that traditionally fuels us through the days walking.

Now a word about the accommodation at this point. It is basic, probably converted from the barn in the eighties, just but not long after double sockets first became available. I know this because it has two of them, on in the back corner of the lounge/diner/kitchen, where it is of no use to man nor beast and one by the cooker. Consequently the double socket by the cooker has two four gang extension cords plugged into it, one serving the TV, Freeview box and the DVD player we brought with us, and the other serving the toaster, microwave, kettle and fridge. I shudder to think what load is placed on the fuse box if everything is in use at once, but Dave swore blind the TV dimmed when the kettle was plugged in. This however was the least of the problem. The flex from the extension socket ran across the worktop dangerously close to the gas cooker, and with limited space to prepare food things got pushed and shoved about. Things moved, and the various electrical leads formed little loops like they do which got dangerously close to the hob. So added to the pleasant aroma of frying bacon, sausages and mushrooms, and the bitter tang of real coffee, melded with the sharp slightly burnt toast that Emma likes came the plasticky reek of melting electric cable. Initially suspecting the sockets were overloaded we first failed to realise that Dave was now cooking the Microwave cable. The smoke alarm had already sounded to warn that bacon was being fried, so we were able to cover up the fact that the incompetent orangutan had destroyed the secondary cooking device.

Actually, we were able to salvage the situation, the damage was nearer the plug than the machine itself so a couple of deft minutes with a screwdriver and a pair of scissors had a professional repair carried out in no time. Hopefully the owners will not notice that the microwave lead is now around 10 inches shorter, but if they do they should consider that it is now a much safer piece of equipment as it will no longer reach the cooker, so no one can set fire to it…….. We had not, as I feared damaged it, we had in fact improved it. You can see why I have not identified the bunk barn. All owners of bunk barns in the Ingleton area reading this will now be conducting safety inspections on their microwaves, just in case, and to the benefit of all. So, in a small way we have contributed to greater fire safety awareness throughout the Yorkshire region. It’s vital service we provide, so if you want us to set fire to your holiday lets, in exchange for providing us with a free weeks accommodation please contact me.

Conflagrations completed it was off to the start point at the Ribblehead Viaduct where the weather was decidedly murky, with the top of Whernside shrouded in fog and the bottom with that fine rain that quickly soaks you through. The rain stopped just as we set off, but we got a couple of showers as we walked up towards Blea Moor and the signal box. I always thin it should be called Bleak Moor and that a letter has dropped off the sign. That’s not to say it isn’t as beautiful as anywhere else in the Dales, it just looks so desolate at times. My camera battery was playing up due to the low temperatures, it was hovering around the freezing point, so I was unable to take a photograph of the Giants footprint, a scar on the slope which presented itself at just the right angle to appear as a giant foot mark, complete with toes. A pity, because I’m sure that when we revisit growth of the bracken and heather will have changed it completely.

Another surprise was the amount of water flowing down to Ribblehead, it had rained during the night, but surely not that much? The stream that has always been a mere trickle on the other occasions I’ve walked the route was in full flow with little waterfalls gurgling away, and water running down any sloped parts of the pathway, which at this point is almost all of it.

Just after the aqueduct as we crossed the railway the weather changed again, with a burst of sleet stinging our faces, the wind blowing straight at us as we walked. This developed into hail, before softening into a flurry of snow , eventually petering out, only to return as several more showers of sleet as we continued up towards Grain Head. The forecast had only promised rain, with a trailing band of cloud before sunshine around mid day continuing into the afternoon, but this mixed bag of weather served as a reminder of how localised the climate can be on the Dales, also proving the old adage – if you don’t like the Yorkshire weather, wait a minute. All that water gave Dave the chance to fall either into a stream or a bog, and as ever he didn’t disappoint, slipping off the stepping stones and filling his boots with water at Force Gil.

A big blue hole appeared in the clouds, with shafts of sunlight highlighting the craggy features of Whernside and the Howgills as we got nearer the top. The wind also picked up, and despite the sun shining through the widening gaps in the clouds it became bitterly cold as the windchill caused temperatures to plummet, probably a feel like -6 Celsius at the summit where we planned to take lunch at the trig point.

Charlotte and Dave lead the way, with Thomas, suffering from the cold dragging his heels at the rear and needing a lot of encouragement to go on. Maybe next time he’ll listen and wear more layers of decent warm clothing – it turned out that whilst he did have a thermal T shirt on he only had a summer weight hoody and a thin waterproof on top, having taken the fleece lining out in the summer and not replaced it.

Whilst Dave got busy with his expensive Jetboiler arrangement I attempted to cook up some “pasta in a mug” with my old gas bottle stove – a fruitless task, as the wind alternatively blew out the gas or blew over the whole ensemble of gas bottle burner and kettle. Cold water and Mars Bar each all round for the Crossland Clan. I would have made sandwiches, but Mrs C had insisted I get something hot down the kids, hence the pasta plan. Next time I’ll stick with my Hamencheese butties, at least then we won’t go hungry!

With the temperature so low we didn’t hang around at the summit, the compulsory trig point picture was snapped and then we headed on down the slope towards Scales Moor. The wind continued bitterly blasting us as we descended, and although I could feel the suns warmth on my legs it wasn’t until we reached Winterscales Farm that we started top warm up properly. Progress down to their was rapid for Charlotte and Thomas, rather slower for me. Any descent can cause me problems due to an old “war wound,” my left knee aching painfully when stressed, and it occasionally gives way and refuses to bear any weight. This can cause amusing hobbling, but these days I tend to use a stick to tackle the downhill stretches. On this occasion I had no real recourse to the stick, I just took it slow and steady and was fine, with Emma taking things at the same pace, the two of us alternately taking the tail end, but passing Dave and Louise on several occasions.

The final leg back towards the viaduct was uneventful, despite several boggy bits Dave failed to fall flat on his face or provide any further mud related entertainment. Three O’clock saw us seated in the Station Pub with a frothy pint of Black Sheep for me, cokes for the kids ad a Cider for Louise. Dave opted for some other weird bitter, but we had to restrict ourselves to just the one, in view of the drive back to the bunk barn. Impromptu entertainment broke out in the pub, with four doubtlessly talented guitar players having an impromptu practice session, fuelled by beer. The songs were vaguely recognisable, but a little to folky for my liking. We all agreed however, that we could have stayed there a lot longer – if only we could have afforded to. A round of drinks stung the wallet for almost £15 – and three of them were cokes.

I will return to Whernside in the summer I’m sure, as I still plan to do the annual assault on the Three Peaks, but for now it’s crossed off my list with 39 others to go.

I would have tackled some of the lesser hills on this trip, but the youngsters were tired out, so Sunday we simply wandered around Ingleton with a brief leg stretch on the moors above Settle on the way home. Despite the weather and the problems encountered I think they are slowly being smitten by the bug – it’s just that they much prefer summer hiking!