Captain's Log

River Kent

My last day on the Dales Way had arrived and the weather forecast was for a hot one. I'd packed up and was away from Sprint Mill before 07:00 in the hope of completing some of today's walk when it was cooler.  I was sorry to leave Sprint Mill, this oddity in the landscape. Within a couple of minutes I'd walked through the trees surrounding the old mill and reached the fields on the other side. It was like stepping back into normality again.

I field hopped on a roundabout route that avoided the occasionally busy road that led into Burneside. This was another village that the Dales Way didn't quite visit. On the very outskirts it darted off to the right and headed off to follow the River Kent downstream, towards Staveley. Reading the Trailblazer guide I'd not had much expectation about today's walk. It got off to a cracking start though along the riverside path. The early morning light cast a golden hue over the land and river. The hills to the north looked higher than I thought they'd be. After this rural start it came as a bit of a shock when I came to the high rise residential buildings at Cowan Head. The development's website says that there are 60 residential apartments that were built on the site of an 18th century paper mill. There was no denying that anybody living here would be in a very pretty spot, but it does make you wonder how they ever got planning permission to build them. If you want to live here, then apart from the cost of the apartment itself , you'll have to stump up another £5,000+ a year (2020/21 prices) in maintenance cost. Yikes! It was obviously too much for a Heron that had been squatting near one of the apartments which had a magnificent of the weir. The huge bird took flight and  headed downstream. I followed it from this gated community.

Staveley

The path along the river was easy and interesting and I could put my brain in neutral. The day had the feeling of the last day of term. The Heron that had taken the hump at Cowan Head's maintenance fees, got tired of me chasing it, and flew up to a high position on the bank to my left. Its beady eyes watched me as I trundled by. The path left the River Kent at Staveley. Yet again, the Dales Way designers seemed fearful of sending thru hikers into the centre of a village and directed us around its edge instead. I wondered how much more trade the local shops would have got if the Dales Way actually went through the centre of these villages. It was only around 08:00 and I guessed any café wouldn't be open before 09:00 and so I stuck to the trail. At one point I climbed over a wall stile into what was obviously somebody's back garden. They looked newish houses and so I presumed the Dales Way had staked its claim on the land first. A road bridge took me over the busy A591 (Kendal-Windemere) road. On the other side, I came across my first fingerpost that indicated the direction to Bowness. It told me that I'd only got 5.5 miles to go.  It was only going to be a short day today. I'd still got the 2 miles to walk to Windermere railway station after reaching Bowness, but I figured I could probably get there around midday. I'd booked my train ticket from Windermere for 16:00; I probably could have made that 14:00 and still had plenty of time for lunch. I was unsure though as to how difficult today's walk would be. It was easy as it turned out, but you never know. Better safe than sorry and I wasn't too aggrieved at booking that  later 16:00 ticket.

Undulations To Bowness

The path actually got even easier with an extensive section of road walking. The cows near New Hall farm gave me their hardest bovine stare as I tramped past. There was just one thin thread of electric wire between me and their suppressed wrath. I wondered whether they could actually see the wire, never mind feel an electric shock from it. A sign on the road gate out of the farm said that I should close the gate and that I was being monitored on CCTV. The road climbed steeply and when it escaped the hedgerow I got a marvelous view back along the wide valley towards the Howgills, from where I’d hiked, yesterday. The road dropped down and then started climbing back up. It was easy walking, but it did undulate a bit compared to the rest of the Dales Way. I came across a man walking in the opposite direction. He seemed to be foraging for plants along the roadside. I looked at what he’d grabbed, but it just seemed like a handful of thistles to me. Maybe he was doing a bit of weeding. I gave him a jolly ‘good morning’ and received a less than hearty response. I left him to it. Near to the top of the next hill, I left the road and headed off into a section that wasn’t actually farm land, but didn’t feel like fell either. This undulated a lot too. The day was heating up and I was beginning to sweat. At Crag House I found a Dales Way fingerpost that had been painted fluorescent pink. Presumably the farmer had got tired of walkers wandering into his farm yard by mistake. Beyond Hag End I climbed up to what seemed like the highest point of the day. The views over to Coniston, Langdales and the Fairfield ranges opened up. Good morning Lake District. 

Dales Way Finish

After this morning’s easy route finding, the path down into Bowness seemed too awkward and tedious. Rather than follow an obvious straight line to the place, it headed off southwards to Clearbarrow and then doubled back on itself. Occasional signs were missing or were obscured by foliage and I had to get the map out a few times to double check that I was still enroute. I followed an elderly couple down the last stretch of the pathway to the stone bench that marked the end of the trail. The woman had a dodgy knee and they sat down on the bench to rest. I had to get a picture of the bench of course and the fellow looked over his shoulder as he saw me taking the picture. He nudged his wife and she got up and started walking away. ‘Please, there’s no need to move. I’m not in a rush,’ I shouted. It was too late though and they were back in hobbling mode. I felt a bit guilty. It was a well built bench and had a plaque on either side. One said it was a bench for those doing the Dales Way and the other informed me that it was 81 miles to Ilkley. It seemed a little understated and I quite like that about a trail's start and finish points. I thought it might finish in the centre of Bowness itself, but typical for the Dales Way, it was happy to just stop outside . There was a gap in the trees that allowed me to see houses in the foreground, then Lake Windermere and the high mountains of the Lake District as the backdrop. Yes, it was a good place for the Dales Way to finish...or start if you were heading to Ilkley.

Bowness-on-Windermere

It was such a culture shock walking down into Bowness-on-Windermere. After days of hardly seeing anybody, I was now having to plough my way through dog walkers, tram pushers, car drivers, mountain bikers, potterers, screaming kids, wailing babies and every other faction of humanity. Some roadworks near the centre of town caused long tailbacks of traffic. Two coaches struggled to pass each in the narrowest point in town. I dived into Brysons to escape the noise and also grab some food. I paid an eye-watering amount for a salad bap and a coffee and I headed back into Dante’s hell. I wandered aimlessly around trying to find a bench so that I could eat my sandwich and drink my coffee. Seating couldn't have been at the top of the town planner’s priorities since I could hardly find any benches, and those that I did find were already taken. Eventually I found a spare seat and sat down. My Bryson’s salad bap was more bap than salad. In fact there was such a paucity of salad that I had to swill each bite down with a swig of coffee. To think what I paid for this rubbish; I’d have been better calling in at the Tescos Express and getting a Meal Deal. I managed to swill it down eventually and then started the long plod to Windermere. There was no rush. It was still only 13:00 and it would be another 3 hours before my train left. At Windermere I bought a couple of cans of local beer and found a free bench at the bottom of the Orrest Head path on which I could sit down and drink them. It wasn’t the most scintillating time I’ve ever spent, but it was quieter than the one I’d found at Bowness-on-Windermere. My Dales Way Venture was complete.

Well, not quite. In some ways it was only just beginning.

Train Troubles

I'd arranged to catch the train from Windermere at 16:00. The train left the station on time which was a good start. From then on though, my travel plans gradually went downhill into a bottomless abyss.

Things started to go awry quite early on at Oxenholme when the conductor announced that the train would have to wait an indeterminate time since the driver of a train heading south had thought he had hit something on the tracks. There was a mutter and general agreement from nearby passengers, that we hoped nobody was hurt. 'The train in front of us would be taking it slow into Preston to see if the driver could spot anything on the tracks' said the conductor. 'Seems reasonable' was the general consensus of my neighbours. Half an hour later though, and attitudes were a little less forgiving and tempers fraught. 'Just get going and we'll take our chances' was the general passenger feedback as the conductor walked down the train, after he'd told us that he'd had no further news. After 45 minutes, the train rumbled forward again to ironic cheers from everybody on board. 

I was sat in one of those pulldown seats near the doors. They are a bit uncomfortable but I generally choose them since I can sit with my big rucksack at my side. There's only overhead luggage racks on this type of train and I'm not sure I could lift my 75 litre rucksack that high anyway. At Preston a bruiser of a chap joined the train and sat on the pulldown seat opposite me. The Bruiser was constantly on his phone and when he turned his head to the side he revealed a tattoo word on his neck in a large gothic font. I was fascinated to read what it said, but I couldn't quite make it out. A few times the Bruiser turned forward and saw that I was staring at him and I'd have to drop my eyes quickly to the floor. The Bruiser was wearing shorts and so his prisoner tag was clearly on display around his ankle. He'd then turn his head again and I'd squint my eyes to try and work out what that bloody writing said on his neck.

The only other distraction was somebody further down the carriage who was randomly shouting out profanities. 'He's a bit loud' I thought. Just before we arrived at Manchester Oxford Road station, he stomped down the carriage past me shouting 'Out of my way you fucking scroungers.' I looked across at the Bruiser to determine his response, but he seemed unperturbed. I thought the Bruiser might say something about me staring at him as we got off the train, but he just wandered away to rob a Post Office or meet with his parole office; one of the two.

Saltburn Ghost Train

The mysterious 'hit something on the line' delay (we never did get to find out whether anything/anybody was actually hit) meant that I'd missed my connecting train to Huddersfield. Fortunately, trains run every hour from Manchester Oxford Road to Huddersfield. Unfortunately, the next one that was due in 30 minutes, had been cancelled, seemingly due to 'somebody throwing something on to the overhead cables.' This meant that I'd have to wait for the 20:02 Saltburn train to get me to Huddersfield....another hour and a half wait! I looked at the Departure Board, it said the 20:02 Saltburn train was 'On Time.' At least it wasn't cancelled or delayed. I sat down on a bench and waited amidst the chaos of other passengers confused by the delays and cancellations caused by 'a problem due to somebody throwing something on to the overhead cables.' That felt a long 90 minutes. Every 10 seconds or so, I'd turn to the Departures board to check that the 20:02 Saltburn train was still 'On Time.' I got gradually more nervous as 20:02 approached. At 19:58 I couldn't sit any longer and stood up and heaved my rucksack on to my shoulders. I looked up at the Departures board; the 20:02 Saltburn wasn't there any more. When I say it 'wasn't there any more', I mean it wasn't on the list of trains departing from Oxford Road station. That is, it wasn't still on the list with a 'Delayed' or 'Cancelled' next to it. It just wasn't in the list of trains at all; it had gone. I wandered over to the lady platform assistant and asked why the 20:02 Saltburn train wasn't on the Departures board anymore. 'I don't know' was the answer.  'It doesn't say it's cancelled. Does that mean it might turn up?' 'Probably not' she replied. 'How can trains exist and then just disappear like that?' I asked. 'This isn't the quantum world where things spring into and out of existence. What about all the passengers on board, have they disappeared too?' 'Huddersfield trains run from here every hour. You could wait for the next one' she offered. 'Well, my original connecting service to Huddersfield was cancelled and then the 20:02 Saltburn has disappeared from the face of the earth, I don't really have any confidence that the 21:02 will ever turn up' I told her. 'You could try going to the Manchester Victoria station. Trains to Huddersfield run more frequently from there' she replied. 'I'm not familiar with Manchester; is the Victoria station nearby?' I asked. 'I don't know' she replied.

As I was on my phone getting a Google map of where the Oxford Road and Victoria stations are located in Manchester, I heard the platform assistant calling me over. A woman was stood next to her. Apparently this was another poor sod who'd wanted to get on the 20:02 Saltburn Ghost Train. 'This lady needs to get to Huddersfield too. Why don't you both share a taxi fare over to Victoria?' asked the platform assistant.

Travel Partner

Before we'd even got out of the Oxford Road station I'd learned that my new travel partner had just been out on the razz in Manchester and needed to get home because she would have to get up at 05:15 to go to Manchester Airport for her job as a stewardess. Oh, and she'd had two hip joint replacements too. Apart from 'why she'd had to have two hip replacements for one so young?' there were so many other questions going through my mind such as:

• do trains actually run from Manchester Victoria to Huddersfield (I'd only travelled into the Manchester Piccadilly station from Huddersfield), or was the platform assistant just giving us false information to get rid of us?

• would it be quicker to walk to Manchester Victoria than take a taxi?

• would our tickets be even valid at Manchester Victoria?

When I suggested some of these potential difficulties as I breathlessly dashed after her, she dismissed the first two, and then said with some venom 'Just let a ticket checker try and stop me getting on a bloody Huddersfield train!' This was obviously a woman of substance who could get things done and so I followed in her wake.

All the taxis turning up in front of the Oxford Row station were booked. 'You'd be better trying to get one further into town' advised one of the drivers. We headed into the city at some pace. For somebody who'd had two hip replacements, she couldn't half shift. The prospect of getting a taxi along the first main street we came to didn't look that good. That was until, much to my horror, my partner flung herself in front of a taxi to stop it. It screeched to a halt and amazingly it was free. There was then a farcical episode in that during this adrenalin rush I'd forgotten I'd still got a 75 litre rucksack on my back and tried to get into the taxi with it on. Once secure inside the taxi, my partner demanded that the driver take us to Victoria station as quickly as possible.

Ghost Train Materialises Into Existence Again

During the taxi ride, I was hard at work on my phone and determined that we just might be able to catch the 20:19 to Newcastle from Victoria, and that stopped at Huddersfield. I also found out that you could walk between Oxford Road and Victoria stations in 23 minutes (or 15 minutes at my partner's pace). I mentioned this to my partner and she told the taxi driver to 'forgo the Manchester sightseeing tour and just take us straight to Victoria.' That seemed to work since the driver slammed on the brakes and told us to get out. We did and found Victoria station in front of us. My partner had a paper ticket and got through the automatic ticket barrier straight away. I swiped the QR code on the scanner and of course it wouldn't work. I gave a summarised version of my predicament to the platform assistant but he insisted I swipe the QR code on the scanner. After several failed attempts, the ticket assistant grabbed my phone turned it upside down and swiped it. It worked. Surprisingly my partner had waited for me while all this was going on. We both ran up the stairs and then over to the bridge to platform 4 to find the 20:19 train just rumbling in...except, it wasn't the Newcastle one. It was the Saltburn Ghost Train! It had somehow materialised itself back into existence and arrived at its next stop after the Oxford Road station. Even its passengers had re-materialised too. I stopped in my tracks, in awe of it! We jumped on the train and claimed two seats. Some women wanting to go to York were unsure whether to get on to the train, since they had been expecting the Newcastle one instead. The platform guard was having none of this dithering and shooed them on to the train, almost manhandling them. 'If this train doesn't stop at York, you can always get off at Leeds and catch another one' was his parting advice to them. The train doors then slammed shut and we were on our way to Huddersfield.

My partner turned out to be good company with both of us having been on treks to similar places. I told her about my theory about the Saltburn Ghost Train materialising in and out of existence, but having given it some thought, I figured that the train company was just missing out the train stops at Manchester Oxford Road, in order to get the trains back on schedule again after the 'a problem due to somebody throwing something on to the overhead cables' incident.

I was sorry to see my partner go at Huddersfield. Without her gritty determination, I'd have probably dithered my time away at Oxford Road and then had to wildcamp somewhere in Manchester city centre. I still had one more train to catch from Huddersfield to get home. Miraculously, this was on time and there weren't any problems with it. My Dales Way Venture was truly over now.