June 26th - Hubberholme to Ribblehead

Sometimes discretion is the better part, etc, etc.  We awakened early in Hubberholme to the sound of drumming rain on the windows and the forecast was not encouraging. The next stage is 13 miles long and isolated (we will be out of cell phone coverage up on the dales and there are no villages) and a lot of it is on boggy flat hilltops like what we experienced two days ago on the section before Kettlewell; it is lonely, exposed and windswept.

Another critical factor is that we're planning to meet up with Elaine Hopkins (our "third turtle") somewhere en route, since she's a faster walker and should catch up with us around mid-day. She's starting in Kettlewell, 6 or so miles behind us on her 19 mile walk, but on a day like this, considering that the trail markings & signposts seem to be much less evident on the high moors, we're concerned that there is a real chance that either of us might get lost or confused or even have a chance of spending a night, without food or shelter, up there in the emptiness. Joan & I decide we need a Plan B, so we called Elaine early before she could leave and told her to take a cab to the George Inn. Once we're all together, we'll figure out what to do.

So around 8, Elaine showed up at the George Inn and after much hugs & kisses, we decided to take a taxi into Hawes - a old (circa AD 1300) market town in North Yorkshire about 10 miles away - and wait out the day there. Then in the afternoon, we thought we could get a taxi 10 miles to Ribblehead and skip this stage altogether. After all, this is a holiday walking journey, not a competition to see who can be the most uncomfortable! 

Ed, the kindly owner of the George Inn, called a taxi for us and we rode over to Hawes around 9:30. As we entered town, I was thrilled to see a big dairy facility that proclaims itself to be the source of Wensleydale cheese. Now for those of us who are fans of Wallace & Gromit, the stars of such clay animation film classics as "The Wrong Trousers", "A Close Shave" and "Curse of the Were-Rabbit" will recall that Wallace enjoyed nothing so much a having a "nice little Wensleydale, Gromit". And here we are in the home of Wallace's delight; the "mother church' of cheese, so to speak.

We walked around town, stopping to pick up things at the chemist (pharmacy), grocery store (Cadbury bars and Wensleydale cheese) and the Mountain Madness sport shop (gloves for me). After browsing the shops along the way, we ended up at the Hawes Rope-makers operation, which is a 150 year-old  family run business that showed us hand-on how rope is made. Fascinating stuff!  

The rain had swollen the streams in the area and made us appreciate the wisdom of our decision to stay off the high moors on this day. After a nice lunch at a little shop that advertised it had gluten-free food (Elaine is on a life-saving gluten free diet & I'm cutting down on my gluten intake), we grabbed a taxi over to Ribblehead.  We had reservations at the Station Inn there and found it was about a mile & a half from the Dales Way trail where it crossed Dent road at Far Gearstones (Don't you just love these names?) This was lonely country with not much in the way of habitation and it looked even bleaker on this dark rainy day.

The Station Inn is the only place for miles around and is close to the Northern railroad stop on the Leeds- Appleby line. The train appeared to stop several times a day and surprisingly, sizable groups of folks got on and off. After we checked in at the pub and got our two rooms set, the skies cleared a bit and we decided to take a walk over to the high, 24 arch Ribblehead railway viaduct that dominated the scenery. 

 
The old steam-powered Flying Scotsman train (built in 1923 for the London to Carlisle traffic) still makes its way through here during the summer season and when it does trundle over the viaduct, is a big hit with the antique railways crowd, who line the crossing to take pictures and compare historic thoughts about the grandeur of the Age of Steam.

After a nice two mile walk up to the abandoned Blea Moor rail station, we returned back to the Station Inn and had a nice dinner, chatting with fellow-walkers and bemoaning the weather, which promised to continue tomorrow as we crossed over the lonely Blea Moor on our 10 mile walk to Dent. But no, worries; I had my brand new super-light FroggTogs rainsuit and Joan her "never-failed" rain outfit, so rain? -who cares.