Day 9                                                                         Map

 

 

Got up bright and early and went out for a wander at 6.30, mainly to take the photo of Kisdon Force which is back down the Pennine Way path I should have come up the night before. Striding out without a rucksack on my back was quite a strange sensation and a real treat. It was a cool and misty morning but all the signs were for another hot day. This implies that I know something of country lore. In fact I only know two. The red sky one, obviously, and high or low flying swallows, but I can never remember which way round that goes. There is the one about cows as well of course: If they’re sitting on wet grass it’s been raining.

 

After breakfasting and goodbyes and buying a sandwich from the café I left Keld about 9.30. Another sweaty hill to start the day but a short one and then over the moors to Tan Hill, which I reached at eleven thirty. The pub was extremely busy for that time of the day. The England football team were due on the telly that afternoon matched against another nation’s finest who were also only in the tournament to make up the numbers. Many of the customers obviously needed an early start to give them the time they needed to down the required quantity of ale before the kick about began. There were also several family groups as well as a teenage sheep who behaved like it was a regular. Tan Hill has always had a reputation for underage drinking and forgetting to kick the customers out before locking the doors at night.

 

All the bar staff seemed to be Australian. I’ve no idea why so many Ozzy youths get jobs in Pennine pubs. This lot seemed to be still jet lagged, wandering round in a daze with no apparent purpose. I only stayed long enough for one of the antipodean zombies to realise that people on my side of the bar with money in their hands needed serving and then find me a generic version of a J2O.

 

                                          Keld, All of It

 

 

The wind was strong enough to blow my hat off when I went outside, but then, in the vicinity of Tan Hill it’s probably more worthy of comment when it isn’t. After weeks of dry weather the walk over Sleightholme moor was nearly a pleasure, but even then it was still boggy in a couple of spots. I’d walked over it before when it was nowhere near its worst but was unpleasant enough to recommend the diversion along the road in anything other than a drought, unless you want to test out your new waders.

 

Near where the path joins the track I sat out of the wind, by the beck and had a snack while pondering my options for that night. I only had telephone numbers for Bowes, which was far too close, and Middleton, which was a bit further than I felt like. Baldersdale would have been just right but finding something on arrival on a Saturday night would be risky. Finding a single in Middleton on a Saturday could well be difficult. There was also the prospect of the crowds there’d undoubtedly be on a sunny Sunday along the Tees which wasn't very appealing. I decided to visit me old mum.


                              Tan Hill Will be a Lovely Spot once Global Warming Really Takes Hold

The school at Richmond is where I’m listed for Friends Reunited and my mother still lives in the town. A taxi from Bowes and back wouldn’t be too much more than a night’s room rate plus dinner and I’d be able to drop off a few unwanted items from my bag. It was the most sensible option by far. I’d also get to see my mother of course.

 

Just after Sleightholme Farm I was able to do my bad deed for the day. I’d stopped to ring my mother to make sure she was in when a spanking new 4 x 4 trundled along the road and stopped. Now don’t get me wrong, I am not totally against 4 x 4s, though I wouldn’t have one in the house. I hardly notice them if they’re out of the way in large towns and cities where most of their owners seem to think “off road” means they can park on the pavement. Inside were two fat middle aged couples, one in the front, one in the back. Judging by appearances they were the sort that help validate that statistic about Mr & Ms Average Person going for a drive in the country never venturing more than 200 yards from their car.

 

‘Does this road go anywhere?’ asked the floral dressed Ms while half studying a road atlas grasped in her chubby hands.

 

I resisted the urge to tell her it hadn’t gone anywhere while I’d been watching it and asked ‘Where is it you’re heading for?’

 

‘Nowhere. We just wondered if we could get through on this road.’

They’d obviously just bought the infernal machine and had decided to show it off to their friends, taking them on tracks and over terrain they never before realised they wanted to travel over. I didn’t know any spots locally which would send them round a blind bend straight over a cliff so just told them the road ended at the farm

You expect problems trying to avoid mud while you’re out walking but along the road to Bowes the difficulty was avoiding the melting tar. A couple of other cars and a motor bike passed me going towards the farm to pass me again on the way back a few minutes later, even though I hadn’t said a word to them.

 

I reached the Unicorn Inn at Bowes about three o’clock and got a number for a taxi. It only cost me £20 and I was in Richmond by four. So, that evening I had a meal cooked for me by my mother, I still ate it though, and let her machine take on the nightly chore with my socks.