Firth Fell

It didn't take me long to reach the ridge line of the fell, since I was walking fast to keep warm. Despite the rising sun, the ground remained frozen for all of the day, making the boggy stretches a lot easier to walk on, than would normally be the case. Across the valley I could see yesterday's summits, Great Whernside and Tor Mere Top (see Great Great Whernside). It was good, at last, to see Great Whernside without any mist on it. Further along the ridge from Tor Mere Top was the higher summit, and the massive supporting bulk of Buckden Pike. I started following a stone wall along the ridge towards Firth Fell. It continued along the ridge, right up to the fell's trig point, making navigation very easy. I measured my progress, by looking across the valley at how far I thought I was along the Buckden Pike and Tor Mere Top ridge. I was surprised at how slow I seemed to be moving. I find the hills in the Dales rather deceptive in length and height. On the other side of my ridge the southern ramparts of Penyghent and Plover Hill came into view. By the time I reached Firth Fell's trig, I could also see the distinctive top of Ingleborough peeping up over the shoulder of Penyghent. There was a handy rock near the trig and I sat down to have my lunch. It wasn't a day for lingering though, and I was quickly back on the march down to the village of Buckden, at the foot of Buckden Pike.

Buckden

The path down to Buckden was well defined. Further down the hill I could see another walker making his way up. Suddenly his arms went flailing in the air as though he was trying to do the crawl without any water. I soon found out the cause of this odd manoeuvre when I started a steep descent on some slabs-cum-steps. They were treacherous due to the ice. There was nothing for it but to avoid them altogether and make my own way down through the heather. When I reached the other walker, we stopped for a chat. He told me that he'd been rather cold in his campervan overnight, at Buckden. He was making a fell traverse over to Arncliffe in the next valley, and then traversing back to the Wharfedale valley. I said that I was more or less doing the same walk but in the reverse direction and that I'd probably see him again on the Dales Way path. 'I'll see you at the Blue Bell Inn at Kettlewell,' he said and started making his way gingerly up the slabs. He was one of these walkers who favoured having a small rucksack and carrying his jacket in his hands. I'd find it annoying having to carry a jacket, but each to his own.

Dales Way

In one of the fields at Buckden, a sheep came over to inspect me. She had some spectacular horns. Her wool seemed to be rather clean and brushed too, as though she'd just been presented as best of breed at a farmer's show. No doubt she got first prize. I patted her on the head and said, 'Well done!'

I turned off on to the Dale's Way before reaching Buckden. The footpath followed the River Wharfe downstream and would take me back to Kettlewell. A lot of the riverside was fenced off with notices saying that it was for the private use of the Bradford Angling Club. Lucky Bradford anglers. The sun had scuttled over Firth Fell's ridge and I now had to walk in the cold shade. The other side of the valley was still in the sun and looked a lot warmer. Every other field had a barn in it, although some of them did look derelict. In one severely boggy field, a herd of cows and a bull had sat down across the path. It was too muddy to walk around them, and so I gingerly made my way through the centre of them. They looked a lot calmer than I did.

Near Starbotton, a notice on a tree said that the chain across the river was for private use. I had a look, and sure enough, a thick chain stretched across the river from one tree to another. I thought that it was maybe used by the farmer to transport gear across the river. I had to Google it, of course, but didn't find anything definitive. A 2018 article said that there were two chains across the river. In this case its purpose might be to allow people to cross. I saw only the one chain though, so maybe you have to do a tightrope (or tightchain) walk now.

Not too far away, I also saw some stepping stones that looked a feasible option to cross the river, but by far the safest way would be to use the footbridge at Starbotton. Beyond the bridge, the river slowed and meandered causing a calmness in the water that made stunning reflections of the other side of the valley. A little further along, I came across a ram with a gps tracker. I'd seen a similar thing a couple of days earlier on Barden Moor (see Valley Of Desolation). The straps holding the gps always look a bit tight to me, but that might just by straps sinking into the wool, giving that impression.

A notice on a gate to a field informed me that if I was worried about the cows and the bull in the next field, then I might want to try an alternative route nearer to the bank of the Wharfe. It sounded like these cattle had a bit of previous. I scanned ahead but all I could see were sheep and so I stuck to the path.

Kettlewell was in the shade as I made my approach and looked little different to how I'd left it in the morning. There were still a few patches of frost remaining around the carpark. I considered popping into the Blue Bell Inn to see if I'd beat the coat-carrying-walker I'd seen on Firth Fell. I'd a long drive ahead of me though, and so I decided against it. It had been a perfect day: winter sunshine, frosty grounds and tremendous scenery.

As I drove away from Kettlewell towards Grassington I saw my coat-carrying-friend making his way down the footpath from Gate Cote Scar. If he intended having a pint in the Blue Bell Inn it would be well after dark by the time he got back to Buckden. I remembered he'd said that he was staying in a campervan and so I guess there was no need to hurry.