Earlier in the year I rather rashly resolved to climb/walk/hike 40 hills in the Yorkshire Dales before the year was out. This was of course before the monsoon season fell upon us, the price of diesel went through the roof and a new shift system was implimented at work, events that have conspired to thwart me thus far. Other than an outing to Whernside in February I haven’t got out walking since.
This was to change on Wednesday this week when I planned to tackle one or more of those pesky peaks. Originally it was Tuesday, but as none of my usual walking buddies were available I put it off. Then Wednesday dawned, with the first clear blue skies I have seen in a long while and my resistance crumbled.
As I have previously related I have in my youth done distance walks solo, but in my advancing years I realised that for safetys’ sake it was better to go in a group, or at least as a pair. With a dicky knee joint and the ever present risk of accident, plus my unerring lack of sense of direction, and to be honest a simple lack of sense, that makes sense, if that made sense. Well all sense went out of the window and I found myself just outside of Kettlewell and taking the track up Greater Whernside alone.
At one time Yorkshire must have run out of names for big hills, as there is Whernside, of the three peaks fame, Little Whernside and it’s bigger brother Greater Whernside nearby. Whernside the popular is 2415 feet, whilst Greater Whernside, confusingly is smaller at 2310 and Little Whernside is of course the smallest at 1981 feet. I have tackled Whernside many times now and always found it a long and unrelenting slog up with a nice easy descent. Well the Greater namesake is exactly the same only more so. From where I started from the roadside near Middle Piece Pastures it is a relentless climb almost all the way up, and what isn’t climb turned out to be bog. The sun had dried out the worse though, and a winter assault would be much wetter of course, although recent weather hasn’t helped and minor diversions were the order of the day to esape the worse bits. Entertainment was provided courtesy of what another hiker told me were Lapwings, three or four pairs providing an impressive aerial display as the swooped and dived to protect their nests from the intrusion of the occasional straying sheep, grouse or the odd hiker straying off the trail. I bow to his greater knowledge. All I know is that they had a call like a cross between a rusty door hinge and car horn, and a regular warbling cry, and had white undersides with black top markings.
The summit was reached and the obligatory trig point photogrpah captured to mark the event. After a rest and the second litre of water of the day had been sipped I descended back to the car. At this point, to put it bluntly, I was getting a pain in the arse, something had twanged in my rucksack, and closer investogation showed that part of the aluminium frame had broken free and poked through the webbing and was making a good attempt to eat my shorts. A temporary repair was made for the sake of comfort but this is most disappointing. My original rucksack is a small PUMA branded daysack which is now 22 years old, and still in serviceable condition, needing only a stitch repair to the webbing on one strap last year. This new rucksack was a quite expensive full size branded bit of kit, new three years ago and has failed already. Not good.
My original plan had been to take on Little Whernside as well, but it had disappeared off my map (it came back later) and figuring if I couldn’t find it on the map I had little chance of finding it in reality I gave up and drove the short distance to Buckden, a couple of miles or so, but necessary if I was to make the best of the day. If I’d got up earlier I could have walked that bit too.
Parking at the car park in Buckden placed me right at the start of the track up the Pike. Buckden pike is a mere 2303 feet, but what I hadn’t figured on was it being quite so far away, and quite so uphill. It was now a blazing 25 degrees, probably too hot for walking, which might explain why I met only two other people on the whole climb and descent. The track starts deviously wide as a bridleway with stone surfacing and little chance of going astray. Height is quickly gained, and with calf muscles complaining the third gateway leads onto what might appear to be the middle ground of the hill. Ths is deceptive. Buckden Pike has to be the most dishonest and deviously cunning hillclimb I have ever tackled. Each time you think you have reached the summit there is another one beyond it. To make matters worse the track changes to grass, and then gets difficult to follow, disappearing completely at times. Eventually I had to invent my own way up the side of a picturesque waterfall to reach yet another false summit. Hares abounded on the next slope, with evidence of much mole activity too. Completely off track now I simply aimed at the top and followed a wall going in roughly the right direction, keeping the hot western sun streaming on my back. Eventually and after many pauses for breath and to take on water the relentless slog came to a halt at a wall running along the summit. Looking across to my left I could just make out the trig point hiding behind a distant wall. So my haphazard navigational skills had worked. A few more minutes, thankfully along the flat, took me to the obligatory photo opportunity. Although this is one with a difference – thanks to the miracle of modern digital camera technology I managed to get a photo of myself with my favourite person – me! And as I was also holding the camera that makes three mes’ who made it to the top. I wonder if that counts as three peaks?
 |
| Me and I, photograph by myself, at the trig point of Buckden Pike |
I knew however that there was a War memorial on the summit not far from the Trig point and it seemed churlish not to visit whilst I was there. The simple cross about ½ mile from the trig point marks the place where an RAF bomber, crewed by Polish airmen, came down on the moor on 31st January 1941. Only one member of the crew survived the crash in a horrendous blizzard, and he walked down the hill with a badly broken leg, apparently lead down to the village by a fox, hence the fox on the memorial. Sadly by the time he had walked down and sought help his fellow crew members had died from their injuries and the cold. I paused a short while and paid respects to those brave men, men who necessarily fled their own country, but signed up to continue the fight alongside our own servicemen and paid the ultimate price.
A few pieces of what I presume to be parts of the airframe of the bomber were placed at the bottom of the memorial which remains reasonably well maintained given it’s remote location. Maybe next time I’ll take a poppy wreath up there. Lest we Forget.
On the way down I found the track much more easily distinguishable, although the going was just as tough due to my usual dicky knee problems. I shaved a few minutes off the time though, short cutting the waterfall route this time for a more manageable route across the moor top which hadn’t obvious on the way up. That cut out a descent and climb, which was nice. It was then I suffered my second equipment failure of the day when the webbing strap on my water bottle failed. Needing both sticks for my lame descent I just had to tie a knot in it and lock it onto my right arm. I think the birthday bunny will be getting a list for new kit this July.
I had as usual forgotten to put my pedometer to use, but I reckon the total for the day would be about 3 ½ miles of Greater Whernside and about 5 to 6 miles of Buckden Pike. And all on 3 litres of water and no beer.
No blisters to speak of either which is nice. My next decent batch of days off won’t be until mid June, and that will possible be the annual pilgrimage to the Three Peaks, so watch his space for more adventures of the walking fool.
No comments:
Post a Comment