Earning a Yorkie in the Yorkshire Dales

The Yorkshire Dales, particularly Malham Cove, is one of the places I teach about in my geomorphology class when we cover karst landscapes, so it was high on my list of locations to visit. The town of Malham does not have rail service so I took a train from Grantham, changing at Leeds for Skipton, then bused from there to Malham. It was a good thing it was a “short bus” as the twists and turns in the road and narrow lanes made the travel interesting when we met incoming traffic.

Malham is a small village with perhaps 30 houses, three pubs, one store, a tea shop, and a youth hostel. Perfect! Upon arrival I checked the weather, had a scone with jam and cream and a pot of tea at the local pub (YUM!) and made a dinner reservation while checking the weather forecast and deciding on a route. The day was to be rainy and windy later, especially along the top of the Dales. In this instance the forecast was spot on.

I headed out of town away from the cove with a plan for a loop hike to Janet’s Foss, a magical glen that could have been a lovely home for faeries and gnomes. I came across a group of elementary aged school kids out for a field trip, hiking through the Foss decked out in boots and rain gear. It’s no wonder the British are such walkers if this is what a school field trip looks like in second grade!!

The trail next led me to Gordale Scar, a gorge that ended in a waterfall. Next, the trail was supposed to scramble up the left side of the waterfall then pick up an upper trail that I could follow 500ft up to the plateau at the top. The fine print suggested it was not a wise choice in wet weather. As you can see in the photo below, the left side of the waterfall was, well, a waterfall with no trail to be seen. I wisely backtracked and climbed through fields and over stiles to reach the top. It was awe inspiring to look down on Gordale Scar from the top (the other photo below – can you spy the waterfall?) It was wonderfully desolate with the rain and wind and nary another walker.

One of the other Harlaxton faculty asked me once what I did while I was walking all day. I’m never ever bored and often overwhelmed with the beauty of the landscapes and how much I want to share the experience with my hiking buddies (Diane, Karyn, Jodi, Sara…, you know who you are). Sometimes I let my mind wander and try to solve the world’s problems, often I talk to the animals I see. Today I played a game I called “rock or sheep”. From a distance, in the mist of rain it can be hard to tell…

I headed out across the plateau towards a tarn, a lake that formed in a depression carved by a Pleistocene glacier. The lake drained through a weir (see the photo to the right) then flowed across the landscape and disappeared into countless joints in the limestone, only to emerge at the bottom of Malham cove as a spring. Thousands of years ago as the glaciers were receding, meltwaters flowed over the top in a massive waterfall. Now the spring is the only water at the bottom. At the top of the cove is some of the most gorgeous limestone pavement I have ever seen. Great for exploring, but treacherous on the ankles.

After a good pub dinner and a cozy night in the youth hostel I caught the morning bus back to Skipton and a train to Ribblehead. The Ribblehead Viaduct is a wonder of 19th century engineering, with twenty four 36-foot high stone arches that carry the train over Winterscales Beck, a small stream in the bottom of the Ribblehead Valley. I told my Dad, the railway buff (= ferroequinologist), of my plans and so we arranged for a live tour via FaceTime. That was not to be unfortunately, at least not until I was about a mile from the viaduct as there was a dead zone in the valley. Still, Dad received a view from a distance and lots of close-up photos via email.

I had exactly four hours to complete an 8-mile loop hike under the viaduct then up to Whernside, the highest peak in the Dales at 2415 ft, then loop back around for the train onward to York where I was spending the night. The toughest section was 1000 ft of climbing over 0.7 miles, with a total climb of 1800-ish feet. The photo below shows the view partway up the climb. You can see the viaduct in the middle left had side of the photo.  Boy, what views! And what wind!!!! That seems to be a common theme when walking and climbing in the UK. The weather is very changeable and as one climbs, one must be prepared for wind, rain, snow, sleet, mud, springs, livestock, and perhaps sunburn.

A rock wall follows the spine of the hill, and at the summit of Whernside, the rock wall was extended into two 3/4 curli queues with a protruding rock shelf that acted as a crude bench. These enclosures face in opposite directions so there is always one that faces downwind. I hunkered down in one and checked my progress: two hours in and nearly halfway around. I scarfed down a snack (when in Yorkshire…?!?!) and continued on, determined to make up time, and running the flatter sections. I rationalized that if I could make it to the pub by the train station with 30 minutes to spare, I would have time for a quick pint before my train. That’s quite the motivator.

The trail down was longer and less steep than the climb up (as I like it), and it followed several small tributaries that eventually joined Winterscales Beck. At one point Force Gill (the name of the tributary) was channeled into an aqueduct to carry it over the railway line. It was the weirdest thing to see – a bridge for a stream!! Look at the photo on the left. Can you see the railway tracks?

With the great hops-motivator, I was back with 40 minutes to spare. This was just as well as I couldn’t get a cell signal as I approached the station and therefore couldn’t buy my train ticket. But the pub had WiFi, so the crisis was averted. I’d call that a successful outing.