Horton-in-Ribblesdale

We said 'good mornings' to three women who were parked near to us and debating what clothes they should wear, in their attempt on the challenge. They'd been at this same stage of preparation since we'd driven into the carpark. You meet many groups of people on the walk and it is fun to make an assessment as to whether you think they'll complete it or not. These ladies looked fit enough for the challenge, but maybe not in the arbitrary 12 hours limit. I always wondered about that 12 hour limit. On my first round back in the '70s, I remember having a start and finish card stamped by a curious machine at the café just down the road from the carpark. Maybe the 12 hours was arranged around their café opening times. I noticed today that the café looked as though it was being refurbished and so was closed. I wondered whether that same machine was still hung on the wall. One of my memories of that initial walk was sitting in the café, after an unbelievably long day, satiating my thirst with a pint mug of tea. The beverage had never tasted so good. A cold pint might have been more memorable, although I'd actually been on a school outing and so that alternative had not been possible.

Pen-y-ghent

The Yorkshire Three Peaks eased us into the challenge with the approach to the first of the peaks, Pen-y-ghent. There was a bit of road walking and then some moderate ascent to reach the southern ridge leading to the summit. The ridge looked formidable as we approached from Horton, but once we'd reached its base, the ascent path looked a little easier. Much of the route had been made easier with slabs and stone steps, but there are stretches that necessitated some easy scrambling. Even the Cabin Boy climbed quickly, as nifty as a seasoned sailor scrambling up the rigging to the crow's nest in a heavy storm. We caught up three teenagers who were making slow progress up to the summit. One of them complained that she felt dizzy from vertigo and this was only at the start of the scrambling. I reckoned there were good odds that this group would be returning to Horton in the near future.

At the summit, we met four other teenagers that we took to be part of the same group that we'd just overtaken. One of the girls sat in the summit shelter looking glumly at her feet and drawing heavily on a ciggy. I didn't rate this group's chances much either. The Kapitan and the Cabin Boy both looked quite chipper, having completed the first of the three summits. From my past experience, I knew that Pen-y-ghent is always ticked when energy levels are high and confidence even higher. The real test of the Yorkshire Three Peaks would come later. We started heading off down Pen-y-gent's western flank towards the distant hump of Whernside.

Towards Whernside

We overtook a couple of other groups of teenagers, presumably part of the same expedition that we'd met earlier. These were obviously the elite of their regiment. Even so, I noticed that some members of these elite groups felt it necessary to sit down after every 10 minutes or so of walking. By Hunt Pot, this elite were choking in our dust as we made fast progress on Pen-y-ghent's downward slopes. We caught up a couple of the SAS calibre members of the group after we turned on to a Pennine Way section. To be fair, they made steady progress with the female party of the two curiously dressed in the colours of a Liquorice Allsort. It wasn't all one way though. As I was having a pee behind a stone wall, a couple unexpectedly approached over the hill that we'd just descended, and I had to cut my comfort break, uncomfortably short. They soon caught us up and I was a little disturbed at their resemblance to Lurch and Morticia from the Addams Family. We tried to keep pace with them, but they seemed to possess some supernatural ability to stay ahead.

The trail of the Yorkshire Three Peaks has significantly improved from my first round in the '70s. That had been memorable as a boggy and soggy experience. Nearly all of the route now is on good paths. The fastest ever Yorkshire Three Peaks time was set in 1974 by Jeff Norman in 2 hours 29 minutes and  53 seconds. The current route is longer and the record was set by Andy Pearce in 1996 in a remarkable 2 hours 46 minutes and 3 seconds. Although we were keeping up a good pace, I couldn't see us breaking that record today. 

Whernside gradually got closer and we even snatched glimpses of the Ribblehead Viaduct. Our route eventually kicked us out on to the B6479. This is normally quite busy, but it was quiet today, presumably because of the 'serious incident' that caused us to reroute our journey to Horton. Further up the road, I spotted Lurch and Morticia conversing with a man in a hard hat and fluorescent jacket. 'Oh no!' I thought. I hoped that the road wasn't shut for roadworks! I was relieved when I saw that Lurch and Morticia continued along the road. It turned out that the contractors were relaying the road surface near the road junction at Ribblehead. As we stopped for lunch at our car, our brief moment of relaxation was accompanied by the rattle of a large roller and the permeating smell of creosote. It was nice to be out in the country.

Whernside

Our lunch stop at Ribblehead lasted 20 minutes. I noticed that the Kapitan and Cabin Boy weren't as chipper as they'd been on Pen-y-ghent, but there were no signs of serious problems yet. We replenished our water bottle stocks and tucked energy bars into our rucksack pockets. In our group goodies carrier bag I found a raisin and biscuit Yorkie bar. I exclaimed my delight and claimed it, only to find that the Kapitan had retained this particular bar from a Yorkie Easter Egg; he'd saved it especially for this particular event. I gulped it down anyway. There was such a look of disappointment on the Kapitan's face that I actually felt a pang of guilt. Pangs of guilt are much preferable to hunger pangs though.  It's the survival of the fittest when it comes to the Yorkshire Three Peaks.

The path up to the top of Yorkshire's highest summit is long, but gradual. It heads off in a large loop to the north and doubles back along Whernside's edge. It is usually at this stage that the first cracks in a Yorkshire Three Peaker start to appear. My walking partner on my last attempt on this challenge started walking about 20 metres behind me on the ascent to Whernside. Inevitably he chickened out before Ingleborough. The Kapitan and Cabin still looked okay though. The two summit shelters on Whernside were full. In one shelter everybody consumed rather fragrant meat pies. We left them to stuff their faces. The 'A Team' didn't have time to eat. I wasn't even hungry; the  Kapitan's biscuit and raisin Yorkie bar I'd wolfed down at Ribblehead, had really hit the spot. Photos taken at the trig, we started heading down Whernside's edge to the descent path.

'Let's Get It Done'

The final descent from Whernside used to be a killer, on a steep, broken limestone path that felt like blocks of soap underfoot in wet weather. The new path is far better although there is no getting away from its steepness. We slowly made our way down and I gave a sigh of relief when we reached the junction with the Pennine Journey path at Broadrake. I'd warned the Kapitan and the Cabin Boy that this would be  a decision point where a 'Go, No-Go' decision would have to be made. If they decided it was a No-Go, then we'd follow the Pennine Journey path back to Ribblehead, through the 'Tunnel Of Shame.' A Go decision would be a commitment to another 8 miles and a steep climb to the top of Ingleborough. I convened a meeting and posed the question.

'Let's get it done!' replied the Kapitan. He made me jump; I'd never seen the Kapitan so animated. The Cabin Boy was less enthusiastic, but confirmed that she also wanted to complete the Yorkshire Three Peaks. Decision made, we left the humiliation of walking through the Tunnel Of Shame to others of a lesser breeding.

On the lower slopes of Ingleborough we caught up half a dozen teenagers. The lad at the back looked like he was dancing on hot coals and I winced at his every step. I wondered if he knew he had another 7 miles of torture. Poor sod. If I'd got blisters as bad as that I'd have retreated to the road and phoned for a taxi. The lower slopes of Ingleborough are fairly easy going, but get inevitably steep as the route progresses. It culminates in a very steep zigzag path to the top of the edge below the summit plateau. We followed a large group up this steep section. They made frequent stops  and we eventually caught them up at the top of the zigzags. It seemed an eclectic collection of people with one of the walkers bizarrely  carrying out handstands on the grass. The Cabin Boy didn't feel too good after the zigzags and I momentarily wondered about the decision to carry on. She gradually improved though and we made our way across Ingleborough's summit plateau to the trig.

Ingleborough

Well that was Inglebrough ticked. We'd completed the Yorkshire Three Peaks, although the 'Challenge' part of the challenge did require another 4 miles walking back to Horton. We wandered over to the substantial stone cross shelter, not far from the trig. It had a toposcope on a plinth at the intersection of the quadrants. The large group of walkers we'd overtaken at the zigzags arrived, and for one moment I thought that the tumbler of their group was going to do an handstand on top of the metal compass. Once he'd climbed up to it though, I think he thought better of it and jumped back down to terra firma.

We left the group and started heading back to the zigzags where we would pick up the path back to Horton. We met some of the teenagers we'd overtaken earlier on Ingleborough's slopes. I couldn't see the blister-blessed member though; maybe he was still struggling up the zigzags. We started descending the path towards Horton. Pen-y-ghent was our marker for Horton and looked a long way, away. That's because it was.

Descent From Ingleborough

Gradually, imperceptibly, Pen-y-ghent loomed larger as we made our way down that long path back to Horton. Pen-y-ghent is the marker for progress since Horton itself is tucked away out of sight in the  Ribble valley. The Kapitan and Cabin Boy were quieter now. The levels of 'chipperness' that they'd shown on the summit of Pen-y-ghent were now a distant memory. I pointed out the natural wonder of Moughton Scars, but they weren't interested. Their only thought was to get to the end of that bloody path back to Horton. At Sulber Nick, the resident Ingleborough Nature Reserve cows had decided to munch on grass on and around the path. I thought that this might be the last straw for the Cabin Boy, but to her credit, she bit her quivering lip, wiped away a few tears smearing her dusty face and followed the Kapitan on a rough bypass route. There is a fingerpost at Sulber Nick that claims Horton is only two miles away. Those two miles have always seemed awfully long to me and I always thought it to be wrong. I measured it using mapping software later on and found it to be correct. That's what the Yorkshire Three Peaks does to you; it deceives your sense of distance.

Return To Horton

In the end, Horton-in-Ribblesdale appeared almost as a surprise as we traversed the last hill. Construction work at the railway station meant that we had to do a 200 metre detour along the platform, compared to the normal direct route. Some people may have crumbled at this last unexpected obstacle, but the Kapitan and Cabin Boy were now like automatons. The Kapitan pulled up his hiking socks to prevent sunburn on his calves and the Cabin Boy plodded on with the dead-eye gaze of a doomed polar explorer. We got back to the car at 18:50. Our round had taken 11 hours 20 minutes and well within the 12 hours of the challenge. We had completed the Yorkshire Three Peaks Venture.

Later in the evening, as we sipped our success on chilled champagne, the Kapitan disappeared and then reappeared with three Yorkshire Three Peaks metal medals, adorned with ribbons to hang around our sunburnt necks. I have to confess that on the sight of this, I felt a moment of remorse at eating his biscuit and raisin Yorkie bar at Ribblehead. It was only a moment though and soon forgotten after a few more sips of the bubbly.