Captain's Log

Bramaskew Farm

It looked a bit grey as I packed up my tent at Bramaskew Farm. I had a brief chat with the farmer as I made a brew in his utility room. He was just going out to check on his livestock. He had intended cutting grass today, but he reckoned it would be too wet.  I read my Trailblazer guide last night about today’s walk. I’d be walking northwards up the Lunedale valley, crossing the M6 and heading off to Burneside, near Kendal. I’d actually be exiting the Yorkshire Dales National Park around midday today, which is a bit odd for given that the trail claims to be the Dales Way. At less than 11 miles, this would be my shortest day on the Dales Way. After the viewtastic last two stages, my Trailblazer guide’s author was less enthusiastic about today’s stage. He said there was a lot of field hopping and cows…never a good sign. Never mind, from where I was standing the Lunedale valley looked pretty enough as I walked away from Bramaskew Farm.

After some field hopping, the trail took me back down to the River Lune. There was quite a lot of water going down it and it looked quite impressive. I eventually came to the Crook of Lune Bridge. I'd come across another Crook of Lune near to Lancaster (see Dark Side Of The Lune). In that case it was more of a horseshoe bend in the river, rather than the 90 degree turn that I could see now. There was a collection of houses on the other side where I found Joe's honesty café. It had a fine selection of goodies and was a most welcome place to resupply.

M6

The trail now ran parallel to the M and its drone was clearly audible.

Just before leaving the Yorkshire Dales National Park, I walked under Lowgill Viaduct, another relic of the Victorian railways. It soared 27m above me, over 11 arches. It seemed like I was starting a different walk when I left the National Park. After some field hopping I came across another honesty box at Lakesthwaite which had some cans of drinks in a cooler and a bench on which to sit.  They are a great idea these honesty boxes; it would be good to see more of them.

The six lanes of the M6 did seemed quite an intrusion, but to be fair, the Dales Way had treated me well so far in terms of its lack of traffic. I have to confess that the trail now got a bit tedious with plenty of field hopping, nervous cow encounters and not really that much to see. Maybe the morning's greyness had cast a dim light on the proceedings. 

The day started to brighten up once I crossed the railway line. The farm at Green Head seemed a bit of an oddity with all sorts of building materials stacked alongside the surrounding farm tracks. It felt like an open air builders merchants. Things got even more bizarre as I walked through the farm at Grayrigg Foot which seemed to be providing facilities for a wedding reception. I wondered if they might offer me some grub, but I had the odd sensation of being a ghost as I walked through the middle of them without anybody making eye contact or saying anything to me. The sun was out now and it had warmed up nicely. As I field hopped along, those amazing Lakeland hills to the west got closer and closer.

Sprint Mill

About a quarter of a mile from Sprint Mill, I came across a sign saying I could camp there. That was encouraging since my Trailblazer guide didn't really have that much to say about the place.  I field hopped along until I got to a wooded area and then dropped down to the River Sprint.

I have to say that Sprint Mill was one of the oddest, beautiful, interesting, bizarre, relaxing, fascinating, extraordinary and prettiest places I've been to. The surrounding fields don't really give any indication of the Shangri-La that you enter when you go into the forested area surrounding the buildings. It reminded me of an amalgamation of Gormenghast, Satis House and a Nepalese Tea House. I appreciate that those who've never read any Mervyn Peake, Charles Dickens or visited Nepal, won't find that much help. The mill building is huge. The following is a quote from the owner Edward: "It has 968 panes of glass in the windows...565 drawers containing a collection from a bygone age, with cagmagery and bits and pieces galore. The old is made new with the Sprintmilling arts collective displaying their wares all over the place, inside and out and extraordinary phenomenon like the spanner phone and a sonata for diesel engine and cross-cut saws." 

I accessed the area of the old mill buildings over a wooden bridge. The ravine and rapids below it were quite unexpected after the rather bland approach across the fields. A woman was attending to a beautiful wild garden at the front of the house. 'Would I be able to camp for the night?' I asked. 'Yes, follow me' she said.

There was a nice flat camping spot up some steps in the garden. It was surrounded by bushes and I thought it might be a bit buggy, but it wasn't at all.  She led me around to the back of the house to a another delightful wild garden area. The white foam of the River Sprint rumbled past below us. 'You can go for a swim if you want.' I looked to see if there was any hint of humour in her face, but there wasn't. I think Olympic level canoeists would have struggled in that water. She showed me the shower in the outhouse. The printed instructions on a nearby cistern to make it work looked as complicated as an A380 take-off checklist, and so I figured I'd have a wet-wipe wash tonight. Back in the garden, she told me that there was an honesty café up some rickety steps into the mill. I thanked her and climbed the steps and entered...well, I'm not really sure what I entered. It wasn't really a café , it wasn't really a museum and it wasn't really an art gallery, and it wasn't really a workshop, it wasn't really a bird house either, but it had components of all the lot of them. There was a large collection of all different types of teas in tins, a large urn that wasn't full or plugged in. There must have been a collection of at least a dozen chairs, although I wouldn't have been confident that any one of them would have supported my weight. I switched on the electric kettle and it didn't work. I followed the kettle's cable to an extension that then disappeared into the dark recesses of some cupboards. I had an idea that maybe it had never worked. I wasn't that interested in having a drink anyway. I tried to make some sense of the pictures on all the walls, but there just didn't seem to be any particular style or theme. There were old and new photographs too.  Everywhere, there were odd objects and tools that I couldn't even guess as to their use. There was just the sound board from a piano. I strummed one of the springs and it played a note. There were plenty of other mysterious items too, but I was distracted by the lady who had just appeared at the door. 

I told her about the kettle and she disappeared into the depths of the mill, only to appear out of a different door 5 minutes later. She'd also brought me a small jug of milk. 'This is a fascinating place' I said, 'but I was wondering what that is that large box hanging from the roof.' The most extraordinary item of all in this amazing room was a large framed box (around about a 3 foot cube). The sides of box were covered by a grill and the whole thing was suspended from the ceiling on a pulley that would have probably supported a Chieftan Tank. Most bizarre of all was that the box contained a guitar, a large model parrot and some false flowers. 'Oh, that is probably a meat box. They would have used that as a food box so that the vermin couldn't get to it.' A House Martin looked down at us from the rafters. It dived down, narrowly missing our heads and flew out of the door. There were so many other questions that I had, but I didn't really want to disturb her gardening. I would have loved to have had a tour of the rest of the mill. Maybe I will return on one of their less busy days. Her husband was down in the garden cutting the grass with a swing scythe. Stuck to one of the windows of a building next to the house were a 'Free Tibet' and 'CND' stickers.

The Dales Way went straight between the buildings and out of the other side. From my lofty camping position I spotted the fairly frequent walkers that passed through. Despite the footpath signs (even one one positioned on the stone cobbles in front of the house), many of the walkers just stood on the spot looking around as confused as I'd probably had when I'd arrived. The owners would then point the walkers in the right direction with the patience of saints.