Captain's Log

Ilkley

The town centre of Ilkley seemed quite posh as I made my way from its railway station towards the River Wharfe. It may not have the charity and betting shops of other Yorkshire towns, but it still had a Greggs. As a thru hiker you never miss an opportunity to fill your gut, even if you've only walked about 300 yards and I procured myself a vegan sausage roll and a coffee.

As I made my way down to the river I spotted a small plaque on the brickwork of a new build. It said Roman Fort Olicana A.D. 79 :: East Gate. They'd obviously built over the ruins. You'd expect people from Ilkley to be called Ilklarians or maybe Ilkleyites, but definitely now you know why they are called Olicanians. The whole place seemed steeped in history. Go up on to Ilkley Moor, that provides a lofty backdrop to the town, and you can find around 250 Mesolithic cup and ring markings on the stones as well as the famous swastika (not the Hitler version).  I wouldn't have minded a mooch around the town centre, but this was the first day of my Dales Way walk and my feet were itching. I'd driven through Ilkley many times on the way to the Dales. It always felt like the last outpost of the sprawling Leeds-Bradford metropolis and the gateway to the Dales.

Dales Way

The walk started at the 17th century humped back Old Bridge that spanned the River Wharfe. The river would be my guide on the Dales Way; well, for the first three days at least. The Dales Way was initially developed in the late 1960's and has become an established National Trail. When I first heard about it, I thought it would be a circular route that visited the various dales in the Dales. In fact, it takes a southeast to northwest trajectory across the Dales and actually ends up at Bowness-on-Windermere in the Lake District. This means that it does leave a lot of the Dales National Park unvisited, but nothing is perfect.

Apart from the pretty bridge and an information board I couldn't find anything else to signify the start of the trail. The river looked low and seemed to lack energy. It is ironic that the former Victorian spa town has reportedly the highest level of faecal matter of all UK waters (Clear It Waste study). The Environmental Agency classifies the bathing water quality as 'poor.' I wouldn't be going for a paddle today. It is disappointing that the government and its water industry watchdog Ofwat seem incapable of changing anything. 

I found about half dozen fingerposts in the first 100 metres. If the trail was going to be this well signed then navigation wouldn't be a problem. After I got beyond Ilkley Lawn Tennis Club (yes, they have real grass tennis courts in Ilkley), the fingerpost bonanza stopped and signage became more reasonable. I was soon walking across my first field. After the initial pottering, my Dales Way Venture felt like that it was now really underway.

Mills, Cabins And Quakers

The trail to Bolton Abbey was a lot better than I expected. I went through pretty villages and the route hugged the River Wharfe for a lot of the way.  There seemed to be always something of interest around the next corner. I went past Low Mill, the site of the world's first worsted spinning mill, built in 1787. On the blue plaque, as if an afterthought, it states 'Workers who were late were fined one penny.' The trail took me through the Olicana caravan park where it looked like some log cabins had been built out of Redwoods. Yorkshire winters shouldn't present a problem to them. I started to field hop and encountered plenty of cows. This would be a feature of the whole Dales Way trail. To be fair, I didn't encounter any that were aggressive over the 6 days of walking.

Just a little further along from Addingham the trail went past the Farfield Friends' Meeting House, a Quaker establishment. I'd first come across the Quakers near to the summit of Pendle Hill (see Quaking Pendle Witches). George Fox had a moment of enlightenment on Pendle Hill which inspired him to create the organisation. They were persecuted during their first few decades in the 17th century. Fox himself was brought to court in 1650 on charges of religious blasphemy. During the trial, Fox told the judge to '...tremble at the word of the Lord', who in response nicknamed the organisation the 'Quakers.' Fox quite liked this and decided it would be a good name for the society itself. And there's me thinking he got it form the cardboard packaging of his porridge. The seats around the meeting house today are the original 17th century ones. They must have seen a lot of Quakers over the years. Further along the Dales Way, I'd come across Briggflats (near Sedbergh) where Fox stopped after his great vision atop Pendle Hill.

Bolton Abbey

Bolton Abbey was next on my itinerary. It is actually a priory rather than an abbey. I had to look up to see what the difference was between an abbey and a priory. It all depends who's the boss (the one below the Big One). An abbey is governed by an  abbot (or abbess) and a priory by a prior (or prioress). Abbots can pull rank on priors. Abbeys also had priors and so it is all a bit confusing. Either way, Bolton Abbey (or Priory) is an impressive ruin. It was originally founded by the Augustinian order in 1154, but had a troubled life being raided by the Scots and then by Henry VIII during the Dissolution of the Monasteries. Obviously, they didn't discriminate between monasteries, abbeys and priories during those days. Not many people were looking around the abbey (or priory); most were having picnics along the river or crossing the stepping stones.

‘I’d like a vanilla cone with a flake,’ I said to the bored looking youngster serving in the ice cream van. ‘Would you like a small or a medium?’ she asked. I thought about asking for a large one, but she didn’t look like the humorous type. In the end, I went for a small one, which cost me an extortionate £4. I have to say though that I’d have rated it as a large one, rather than a small one. I then spent a tricky and sticky 5 minutes trying to consume it all before it all melted and dripped over my hand. 

The Strid, Barden Aqueduct To Appletreewick

The Strid is quite a narrow opening through which the River Wharfe squeezes. It makes an impressive sight when there's large amounts of water flowing down the river. There are plenty of notices warning you not to get too close. That is good advice, since there are undertows in the rapids that can drag you into underwater caverns and keep you there. So don't stand too close to the edge. Today there wasn't much water going through at all. I still wouldn't have risked jumping across it though.

A little further up from The Strid was the Barden aqueduct. The trail used the aqueduct to cross to the eastern side of the river. The aqueduct is still in use, delivering water from Nidderdale to Leeds, although the pipes now run in pipes under the pathway on the bridge.

I'd walked the next stretch of the river, between Barden Bridge and Appletreewick many times, and it never disappoints. It is prettiness personified. The hills seemed higher around here and having left the potterers behind at Bolton Abbey, I now really felt like I was in the Dales. The sun was still shining and it had been a wonderful day for walking. I felt strong enough to walk beyond Appletreewick, but it was my first day on the trail and I didn't want to overdo it. Besides, there was a convenient campsite at Appletreewick and I really needed a shower to wash the sweat away.

Appletreewick

''Are you a hiker?' I was in the reception cabin of the Masons campsite in Appletreewick and the enquiry was from the young girl behind the counter. I had a 75 litre rucksack on my back, two trekking poles in my hand, a pair of muddy Scarpa boots on my feet and I was sweating buckets. ‘No, I was looking to get permission to do a spot of water divining in one of your fields,’ I replied as I clicked my trekking poles together above the counter as a demonstration. Well, I didn’t really say or do that, but I would have loved to have done. ‘Yes. Guilty as charged. I am a hiker,’ I admitted. I followed her out of the office and around the building. ‘We always keep some space back for campers who are walking the Dales Way’ she said. I must admit, I had been a little concerned that the site might be full since my approach to reception had been through an area where caravans and tents had been crammed cheek by jowl. She led me into an accompanying field that was so large and empty that it could have probably supported the annual complement of Dales Way thru hikers all at once. ‘Yes, it is good of you to reserve some space for us,’ I said. 

The site was expensive, but the pitch and facilities were good. As I rustled up a Firepot, a father, son and dog turned up to play a game in this vast field. For anybody who has seen the ‘competitive father’ character on the Fast Show, then this fellow was him on steroids. He contrived a three-way complex game where his son would bowl him a tennis ball and he would hit it as hard as he could with a cricket bat. His son could then earn a point if he caught it, and even a bonus point if he caught it with his left hand. The dog had a slight disadvantage in this regard, since he only got a point if he caught it in his mouth. If the boy and dog didn’t catch the ball, then the father got a point. I’ll not tell you who won, but you can probably guess. It wasn’t the dog.