Cam High Road

Our route followed the tarmac of a road out of Bainbridge. Almost immediately we had to step into the verge to let an oncoming lorry pass us and I wondered whether this road stretch was such a good idea. I shouldn't have worried though, only a couple of other cars went by on the outward and return journeys. After about a kilometre from Bainbridge, the tarmac swung south to continue its way to the village of Countersett. We continued on our straight line and joined the Cam High Road. This was a stone lane that seemed to run forever in that straight line, before disappearing into the hill mist. My OS map had a label of Roman Road alongside it which was stating the obvious really. There are the remains of a Roman fort in Bainbridge and this track made its way across to Ingleton. The Cam High Road must have been their motorway between the two places. On a misty, atmospheric day like this, it was easy to imagine a legion marching along, cursing the thin soles of their sandals and the sharp stones on the road. The Cabin Boy sounded pretty much the same walking along with her blisters. In 1751 it became part of the turnpike road from Richmond to Lancaster, until Hawes took over turnpike duties later that century.

Cabin Boy's Knickers

The mizzle turned to light rain and I put my anorak on. Despite the rain, it was actually quite warm and we were all wearing shorts. The Kapitan was out in front, navigating with his compass, the Cabin Boy was in the middle, cursing at her blisters, and I brought up the rear, making sure I didn't lose either of them. As we walked on, I noticed something black dropping down from the back of the Cabin Boy's shorts. I was mystified as to what it might be. A sudden gust of wind caught the object and they dropped on to the track. I bent down, with the curiosity of Alice Roberts making the archaeological find of her career, only to find that it was a pair of knickers. This event had gone unnoticed by the Kapitan and Cabin Boy and so I bellowed for them to halt and called them back. At first the Cabin Boy denied that they were her knickers, but on closer inspection she confessed to the ownership. She'd just been for a pee a couple of minutes ago and I asked if they had somehow become detached in that process. The Kapitan and I gave her some privacy as she conducted a visual check and then she informed us that she was still wearing a pair of knickers.  I picked them up and the Kapitan and I folded them up like a top table tablecloth and handed them back to her. This indeed was a mystery, and we were all in deep thought as we continued along Cam High Road.

Drumaldrace

We climbed into thick mist. We now had a straight track and nothing to see. It wasn't very inspiring to be honest. At least there would be a Dales 30 peak ticked at the end of it. Maybe it was the mist, maybe it was the boredom of the terrain, but on the simplest navigational walk that I've probably ever been on, I made a navigational error.  Oh, the shame of it. I'd not taken a map and I miscalculated the location of the turn-off point to the short out-and-back to the top of Drumaldrace. At a junction of footpaths, I told the Kapitan that we needed to head off to the north to get to the top. After about 5 minutes of walking, a stone wall loomed out of the mist. A stone wall that shouldn't have been there, and I knew I'd gone wrong. I had a look at the Kapitan's map and I could see that I'd turned off on a footpath to the east of Wether Fell whereas the path we wanted was at its western end. I apologised to the Kapitan and Cabin Boy and we returned back to the Cam High Road. We continued plodding along it.

10 minutes later, when we reached the correct turn-off point, I went over to study some notices that had been attached to a board. It said that Wether Fell (containing Drumaldrace) was restricted on certain date ranges, for the benefit of ground nesting birds. We were in the middle of one of those date ranges. Drumaldrace's summit cairn was only 300 metres away from us. There was no way anybody could see us in this mist, never mind the landowner. I'm an RSPB member though and I was prepared to sacrifice a Dales 30 peak for the benefit of our feathered friends...although I suspect the closure is more to do with the Tweed Trouser Brigade, than the stated reason. 

We turned around and started heading back to Bainbridge on the Cam High Road. At least we were going downhill now.

Return To Bainbridge

There were bits of the Cam High Road where the underlying limestone had been exposed and this was quite slippery with the rain. A couple of times, I went for a short skate. I was surprised to find that we dropped out of the mist a lot sooner than expected, offering views that had been invisible to us on our way up.  We weren't so lucky with the rain though; a weather God kept clicking the rain's on and off switch throughout our descent. In one of the fields, two young cows trotted across to the gate to get a better view of us. The Cabin Boy made a swift departure down the road. The two cows then started mooing at an appreciably high volume. The noise they made sounded like they were in pain. They continued this duo as we made our descent and it was only when we reached the tarmac road into Bainbridge that we lost their strained chorus.

A few minutes after we returned to the holiday let, the heaven's opened and stair rod's fell as fast as they had done yesterday. It was a good job we got back before that started. Drumaldrace from Bainbridge was not the most inspiring walk in terms of terrain, but it was a good leg stretcher and served our purpose on that day. Maybe when I actually get to tick Drumaldrace off on my Dales 30 list, I'll tackle it using a different route.