Over the Hill to Keld

Day 8

There was a couple at another table for breakfast so I hadn’t been the only one in, but there were only the two tables set and it didn’t explain the no vacancies sign. All three of us expressed our puzzlement but none of us were quite puzzled enough to be bothered to ask.

I stocked up with supplies in Hawes as I knew there was only a small shop in Keld until Middleton. I couldn’t find water purification tablets but there were plenty of sandwich and pie shops, money machines and lots of places to buy limited edition prints of the local scenery. If you’re running a bit short of rope you’ve come to the right place if you’re in Hawes. I have to admit to once again leaving without visiting their Ropemakers centre. I’m sure the experience is fascinating to several people but I have less interest in it than Bart Simpson had for his school trip to the cardboard box factory. I believe they have a section on knots as well but hey-who cares?

Visiting Teams to Hawes F.C. are often surprised at the home sides proficiency at sliding tackles

I was a bit light on accommodation addresses for the top end of the walk so nipped into the tourist info centre on the way out of town, and very smart it is too. It’s in the old railway station which, as it’s no longer used for passengers, is kept in very good order. The staff there were very helpful but useless, I already had the names and numbers of those who could afford to advertise in their brochures. Thinking about it, I should have bought a pencil from them as a thank you for trying. Perhaps next time I’m passing, and need a pencil

I still didn’t expect to get to “the top end of the walk” but as I’d come so far the idea that it was a possibility had to be faced. My feet were still blister free, however, they never stopped moaning about their working conditions. They continually sent little messages of pain to my brain. ‘Ouch! don’t forget us Ouch! down here Ouch! will you? Ouch!’ They kept saying. My legs, unusually, stayed fairly quiet. I could tell that on the whole they’d rather have been doing something else but they seemed to have resigned themselves to a grudging acceptance for the time being. I believe the medical term for having your lower body parts talk to you, by the way, is Pedelocution Loonitunus.

Hardraw Force can be a little disappointing in dry weather but it’s in a lovely setting and I’d definitely recommend a visit to anyone who’s not been before. I gave it a miss on this occasion, but gave in to the temptation of an ice cream from the next door café which I tried, unsuccessfully, to eat before it dribbled down my hand. I nearly forgot to mention the weather - it was hot and sunny. The last time I’d been here was a couple of years previously, on my way to my only other trip over Great Shunner Fell. There had been heavy overnight rain and the waterfall was the most impressive I’ve seen it. The photo, which looks as though it was taken with a Kodak Instamatic, doesn’t do it justice.

You can only get to the waterfall through The Green Dragon Inn, which might have something to do with why, as a child, I was taken by my father to see it so often. Coming back through the pub I noticed a couple at the bar having a pint, even though it wasn’t much after 10 o’ clock, I don’t think the Australian barmaid had got to grips with our licensing laws as yet, so I stopped for a quick one. I was very glad I did as it had at least a small anaesthetic effect on me when I was attacked by the rain, an hour later, just as I was reaching the highest part of the hill. I could see it coming from some way off and was well prepared. Over my shirt I wore a jumper, fleece and water proof. Even so, the wind blew the heavy drops horizontally into the side of my body with such force I could feel every one and it was even quite painful. I’m glad it wasn’t hail. The only water I was likely to have trouble with on this day was the rivulets of sweat pouring into my eyes.

I caught sight of the red rucksack a long way ahead of me when half way up and Joe was just finishing his lunch in the shelter when I reached the top. I started on my lunch and he stayed a while for a bit of a natter. He told me he hadn’t brought a camera so I took his photo and promised to send him a few snaps, when I got home, via the wondrous medium of computer technology, or e mail as my son likes to call it.

I passed him taking a rest half way down and never saw him again but did find out later that he managed to make it to the finish.

When I reached the road I felt that the heat had got to me a bit and I was nearly out of water again. There had been a fairly strong wind higher up but it hadn’t been particularly cooling, now, lower down, it was very clammy. I was also running late. After dawdling, I hadn’t left Hawes until after eleven and I hadn’t exactly rushed over the hill so now it was gone four and dinner, at the b&b, was at six. The correct way to go was downhill to Thwaite and round Kisdon Hill but I’d have to stop for a drink going this way and I’d be very late for dinner. I had a real thirst for a fizzy drink as well. If I’d been drinking the pull of a pint would have been too much to resist but if a fizzy pop is all that Satan’s got to tempt me with I’ll be heaven bound when the time comes, if I’ve got the choice. I turned left and walked up the road.

If it hadn’t been a weekend I’d have more than likely booked a room at Tan Hill, but as they advise on their web site that they don’t do singles on Fridays and Saturdays I’d settled for Keld. Trudging along the road I was glad I had, I suddenly felt extremely weary and even a bit light headed on a couple of occasions. I’d have been on my hands and knees by the time I’d got to Tan Hill, about midnight probably and I would have missed out on a very good b & b.

I’d booked the room at East View Guest House from the graveyard of Hawes church after ringing the famous Butt House. They were full for the next six months but Mrs Whitehead kindly gave me a few other numbers to ring. With Keld being tiny as well as on the crossroads of the Pennine Way and the much busier Coast to Coast accommodation can be very difficult to get. I heard that it’s not uncommon for companies who sell the C2C as a package to collect folk in Keld, after they’ve walked from Kirby Stephen and take them back there for the night. The next morning they bus them back to Keld to continue on their way. The landlady at East View couldn’t believe my luck when she had a single room available for a Friday night.

Upper Swaledale

On reaching Keld the first thing I did was go to the café/shop and bought two bottles of Lilt, drinking one immediately and saving one for ten minutes later. I had to look hard to find my lodgings, the entrance was so tiny, but tardislike, inside the door it was much bigger. The kitchen/dining room/lounge was a good size room. My single was small and wasn’t en suite but they only let one other room, a twin, and there were two toilets to share between us. There was also a guest’s lounge on a mezzanine floor between the front door and the bedrooms, so you didn’t only have your room to go to after dinner (there’s not a lot to do in Keld).

I arrived about five thirty. The landlady, Margaret, said that I could have my shower straight away if I liked as the couple who were staying in the twin were Coast to Coasters and were waiting for their rucksacks.

“Oh they’re cheating are they?” said I loudly before realising that the husband was reading the paper just a few steps away in the lounge. Oops, foot’s gone in again I thought. He was quite all right about it though and they turned out to be a very nice couple, even though they were from London.

The price for the night was £38 but included the evening meal, which was excellent. Three courses of good home cooking which was perfect after a days walking. The man of the house, Keith, sat in the kitchen during the meal; nice chap but could easily qualify as the talking champion for the whole of Swaledale. I, of course, ate my meal in shy silence only uttering an odd word when necessitated by politeness.

Keith told us that he was in a society, Friends of Richard III or some such, which is dedicated to convincing the world that Shakespeare’s arch villain was not such a bad chap after all. He might well have had the princes in the Tower murdered but saved the realm from being ruled by the lads’ mother, who was a bit of an Ann Robinson type figure by most accounts. If you go to Middleham, near Leyburn, Richard’s their local hero, having been brought up in the castle there. He was also the last English king to be killed in battle, which is always good for a quiz question.

After dinner the Londoners went to get a bottle of wine from the café and came back with a tale of two Pennine wayers staggering in while they were there. Apparently they’d done 25 miles that day, they only had two weeks to do it in. One of them could hardly walk, but he could eat all right. They’d bought up just about everything edible left on sale. The café should have been closed an hour earlier but had been too busy to lock the door.

The three of us sat and talked for a couple of hours. Even without alcohol I can rabbit on about nothing and tell anyone polite enough to pretend to listen what’s wrong with the world. Sorry, I’ll rephrase that: I sat there quietly while these other two continually moaned about everyone and everything they could think of. It was just like a two hour long episode of Eastenders. Yer know what I mean?

Keld on a busy night