Vole Explosion

GEOGRAPHY FIELD TRIP SLUT

Friday 9^th September 2022

Malham to Horton-in-Ribblesdale

I’m on the right side of Malham to continue the PW without going back into the village. I don’t think there is anywhere to have breakfast this early anyway. My guidebook tells me that there is nowhere to buy food on today’s walk so stock up in Malham. Then you arrive in Malham and find there’s nowhere to stock up on food. I have a few snacks left but otherwise I’m on starvation rations until this evening.

I set off at 7am and I’m straight into the hardcore hiking action with a visit to notorious geography field trip slut Malham Cove. Seriously picturesque and photogenic, and I have her all to myself.

The trail then climbs up above the cove and crosses over the top via the Henry Moore formations of a limestone pavement. Clints and grykes a-go-go!

From here a pleasant route leads to the shores of luscious, pouting Malham Tarn, where a single Goosander female is the only bird of note.

The path then passes below a looming rock formation that I dub ‘Buttcheeks Cliff’. If it doesn’t already have a name you can have that one on me. You’re welcome, National Trust.

I had meant to save my meagre snacks until at least midday but, feeling low on energy, I only last until 10.30am before scoffing the lot: sweet chilli crisps squashed in my backpack since Sheffield, a peanut cereal bar, two small Snickers, a tiny bag of jelly-beans, and a bag of almonds from the USA that has been hiding in my backpack since a birding trip to Colorado back in April.

From Tennant Gill I continue along a pleasant trail to Fountains Fell, meeting a frog along the way. From here I get my first view of the intimidating bulk of Pen-y-Ghent. There doesn’t seem to be any way up the fortress-like structure that I can see, but I’m still feeling hungry and I know that dinner and a pint are waiting for me on the other side, so nothing is going to stand in my way.

After some road walking and then a long, gradual climb to the shoulder of Pen-y-Ghent, I steel myself for the climb to the top. In the end it isn’t as bad as I expect. Taking it slowly, stopping to recover occasionally, and consciously controlling my breathing and walking pace, I get to the summit in 35 minutes. The view is spectacular. A complete 360^o panorama of rolling hills stretching out into the distance, with barely any traces of visible human activity other than the landscape scouring caused by sheep farming and grouse shooting. It’s sometimes easy to forget, especially if you come from the crowded south, just how much wide-open land we still have on these small islands.

I feel a sense of elation coming down from Pen-y-Ghent that I haven’t felt so far on this trip. Other hikes I’ve done have been less work and a lot more fun. While I’ve had moments of fun this week, it has mostly been about personal achievement. This seems like a hike that feels better to have done than to actually do. Once I’ve completed it I would have no desire to do it again. I’m completely bemused by the people I’ve met who have done it multiple times in both directions. Every hill summited has been a tiny achievement and every day completed has been a minor personal triumph. But fun? I’m not so sure. I saw fun once and it didn’t look like this.

On the walk back down the other side I bid farewell to Pen-y. I treasure the time we spent together but in the end I had to leave her. We both knew it was never meant to last.

Once in Horton-in-Ribblesdale I stop for a well-earned pint in The Crown before heading for the campsite. I love this campsite – everything from the lovely old man at a desk who carefully writes all my details on a docket when checking me in, to the slightly festival atmosphere caused by a continuous stream of people arriving, opening drinks, pitching their tents, and firing up barbeques. I don’t know if it’s the coming weekend or if there’s an event on, but the small village is fast filling up with hikers.

I go to Horton’s other pub, The Golden Lion, but find it too busy for my liking so, after a quick pint, I go back to The Crown for my long-awaited dinner – an absolutely superb lamb Henry in mint gravy.

At night on the campsite, three Tawny Owls are calling from different directions.

14.5 miles; 23.5 km; 8.5 hours