Stormy Weather Walking, Monday, May 23

Suspension bridge above Burnsall

He said (Burnsall to Kettlewell, Monday, May 23):

Rainwind is a weather condition that is often not recognized unless you are out on a high grassy path rather than ensconced in a cozy room.  Today, we learned first hand about Rainwind, before and after that, we learned about  Windwind.  (Rainwind and Windwind are trademarked by RB) ….  Actually, I quite liked the experience, especially when it was over and we made it down to our small hotel in Kettlewell.  The route took us much higher than the river Wharfe, up to the rocky and grassy slopes which are constantly kept trimmed by the sheep.  The gusty wind was fortunately hitting us from the side rather than the front, although it almost toppled me a few times.  At least once the rain ceased, we started to dry quickly.  After pausing for a lunch break behind the shelter of a stone wall, we walked on then being very much chilled by the wind and our break.  Walking down into Kettlewell, we passed through the stiles of many stone walls, being hundreds of years old.

She said:

Good Wi-Fi connection in our room tonight (Monday, May 23,) so I’ll play catch-up and do both yesterday’s and today’s updates.

Yesterday was the first day of walking The Dales Way.  It was long and hard.  We left charming Ben Rhydding in heavy wind and intermittent rain.  Still, it’s always exciting to actually start a long distance walk.  And to have a Day One full of big weather set our tone for perseverance…and humor.  Really, if we could do that day right off, no worries going forward.  (More on that flying out the window when I get to today’s walk.)

Blue sky, sun, clouds, wind, rain.  All of it, all day.

We walked mostly along the River Wharf.  Families of ducks, the babies paddling furiously in the wind and rushing water to keep up with Mom.  Cute and comical.  It being Sunday, we did encounter lots of walkers.  Some particularly large groups had the look of our Sierra Club outings (maybe they were Ramblers?  Our Sierra Club is surely the answer to the UK’s Ramblers, though Ramblers make our Sierra Clubbers look like sissies.  We struggled up a scree field in Ireland in 1995 – R made it; I cowered behind a rock and cried - and at breakfast the following morning we met Sydney and Louise, two 80-something Ramblers who had “rambled” up the same hill, effortlessly and with just good, sturdy walking shoes – no boots.  And they were going to do it again that day – “good exercise.”

Just as we were starving, and just as it began to pour rain (yet again,) we came upon a Quaker meeting house (Farfield Meeting House) - small (15’x20’x12’), old (1689) and, most importantly, dry and open to anyone.  A tiny sign on the door invited us in, and a fact sheet inside taught us all we needed to know.  The wooden seats around the outer edge of the room are original (!) and the simplicity of the house is the key feature, a “theology in stone.”  The Quakers saw no need for symbols and ornamentation.  This would contrast hugely just a few miles away when we came upon the ruins of Bolton Abbey, an 1154 monstrosity raised supposedly to the glory of God but probably more to the glory of the clergy.  Sigh.

It was pretty amazing, though – 14^th century stained glass windows.  14^th century!  The colors were so dense and true and jewel-toned.  A couple of portraits (patrons, no doubt) but mostly simple shapes of circles, diamonds, crosses and flowers.

Passing out of the Bolton Abbey grounds we found a fallen tree covered in coins, each shoved sideways into its bark.  They were all old, but I put my new two cents in (actually, a Washington-head nickel) and as we continued on, the sun came out and we walked and walked and walked to finish our first day at 15 miles.  Sore feet.  Dinner (reliable fish and chips) in the excellent pub at our accommodation, The Red Lion Hotel.  Good sleep.

Which was good, as today was gale force winds (70 mph – shades of the Cornwall Coast) and driving, sideways rain.  (I bow to the gods of REI – with the right clothes I was warm and fairly dry.)  It’s hard to describe so I won’t try.  Suffice to say, it was extreme weather and I felt dramatically, wonderfully, strongly vibrant and alive. We met a couple on the path who have hiked the Dales for 30 years and who gave us good tips for our walk in future days (a country church in Buxton where the carpenter who built the pews and railings carved tiny church mice into the wood here and there and you wouldn’t see them unless you knew to look for them and a high fell where there are still mine (limestone) openings left from the days when workers climbed daily to the top of the Yorkshire Dales to mine and smelt the lime that all farmers used as fertilizer in their soil.)

Then, glorious sun, a flurry of pictures and an easy walk down from the windy ridge to the town of Kettlewell and the Racehorses Hotel, our stay for the next two nights.

We ate downstairs in their classic, cozy pub – pheasant, Guinness and Taylor ale (I am learning that my dreamed-of buttery chardonnay will probably not show itself again until London.  The ale was fantastic.  When I Rome…)

(Watched the news and Obama in Ireland – funny how everyone here loves him and at home he’s sometimes vilified by half the country.  It’s a crazy world.)

Ready for bed.

Fat and happy.