Vole Explosion

BLACK GROUSE COUNTRY

Sunday 11^th September 2022

Hawes to Tan Hill Inn

I sleep really well, either from the beer or from the blissful silence of the campsite. Just outside the site, the view over Wensleydale looks gorgeous in the morning sunshine. I walk back into town and have coffee, a large sausage bap and a slice of cherry shortbread crumble at the Penny Garth Cafe, where groups of motorcyclists are gathering for a Sunday ride. The Tall Guy comes past and we chat for a while. He is also heading for the Tan Hill Inn.

Once I start walking I find I have developed a pain in my left shin just above the ankle. After a trouble-free first week I fear this may be the point where my body starts to fall apart.

Within half an hour I arrive in the pretty village of Hardraw.

I climb up a stony lane lined with purple flowers and alive with a varied assortment of bees enjoying the sunshine. I stop for a while and almost fall into a trance, hypnotised by the 360^o surround sound of buzzing. Thankfully, another hiker comes up behind me and snaps me out of my reverie, otherwise I might still be there now, enslaved by the swarm and condemned to spend the rest of my natural life collecting nectar and raising their monstrous grubs.

I then have a long, steady uphill plod for a few miles to the summit of Great Shunner Fell. All the way up there is a continuous 360^o panorama of scenery so stunning that I have lost most of my capacity to be arch about it, all under a brooding drama-queen sky.

I have now entered Black Grouse country – a chubby, charismatic bird I’m really hoping to connect with, having only seen them a couple of times in the past, and then only brief flight views of flushed birds. I’ve never had the chance to visit a lek, where the males dance and compete for the attention of the females. This is the first day that I’m carrying my binoculars in hand. With most of the Summer migrants now on their way south, and only a handful of resident species left on the high moors, I figured the birding wouldn’t be much cop at this time of year. Consequently I didn’t bother bringing my sexy Swarovski’s on this trip to keep the weight down. Instead I have a low-quality compact pair that are optically only marginally better than curling my fingers around my eye sockets and miming a pair of binoculars. All the birding up until now has been naked-eye or by ear.

From the summit of Great Shunner Fell, where I rest and eat lunch, I descend into Thwaite for a pint at the Kearton Country Hotel. I then leave the village at a fair old pace and quickly gain height again. The rest of the day’s walk is fairly gruelling: a long, rough, rocky path high along a valley obscured by trees. Progress is slow, difficult and annoying, but eventually I drop down into Keld where I rest by the very scenic waterfall.

The final leg climbs out of Keld then heads across moorland on a reasonably flat trail. My leg is hurting quite a lot now and the forecast rain is just about to start. I also don’t see any Black Grouse. It’s a relief in the evening when the legendary Tan Hill Inn appears in the middle distance. This is Britain’s highest pub and I’ve been here twice before: once for a freshers’ event as a student at Lancaster Uni. in 1994, and once as a side trip while walking the Coast-to-Coast in 2005. With the wind and rain building up I have already decided to go for a bunk room instead of camping, so I’m glad that they still have beds available.

In the eight-bed bunk room I find The Dutch Guy already settled in. The Tall Guy arrives shortly afterwards, having been drinking in the bar. He’s boisterous, gregarious, slightly eccentric, has a puppy-dog enthusiasm for everything and a slightly alarming indifference to his own nudity. He’s the kind of person who, when coming across a waterfall, while most would admire it and take photos, he would strip off and plunge in for a shower. In fact he did exactly that just a couple of hours ago in Keld. He is now naked again and striding up and down the bunk room while we chat, his genitals bouncing alarmingly close to my face as I sit on the edge of my bed. He asks me if I’m having fun on the hike. There’s that word again! I’m still not entirely sure if I know the answer. To be honest, I was having more fun before his meat and two veg entered my field of view.

The fourth man in the dorm hasn’t been seen yet but he must be somewhere in the inn. There’s nowhere else for him to be for miles around.

I join The Dutch Guy in the bar for a superb comfort food dinner of steak pie, mash and minted peas, while wind and rain lash at the windows. Later, my bed is amazing – really comfy, with a large, billowy marshmallow of a duvet and my first actual pillow since Manchester. There are also tea and coffee facilities in the room and an excellent hot shower with fluffy towels – a welcome change from my tiny travel towel. Amazing how quickly such small things become significant when you can no longer take them for granted.

I turn in early and the others do the same not long afterwards, quietly getting into bed in the dark and causing zero disturbance. Also, nobody snores – bliss!

16 miles; 25.5 km; 9 hours