Our last walk in the Yorkshire Dales was a short early evening stroll to a small waterfall called Janet’s Foss, just outside Malham. The name for the waterfall apparently comes from an old folktale that a fairy queen, Janet (sometimes Jennet), lives in a cave at the rear of the fall. There are numerous stories about this: usually wraiths are not thought to be ghosts or demons, but rather a strange entity somewhere in between the two, similar to poltergeists but much more powerful when appearing as a full-bodied apparition. With Janet, there are claims that she would have practised black magic in life and this eternal damnation is her punishment. So, from the numerous conflicting tales we were told when we asked, she was either a magical fairy, or a vengeful creature.
The waterfall carries Gordale Beck over a limestone outcrop into a deep pool below. The pool was traditionally used for sheep dipping, which drew in local villagers as a social occasion. We were told that there have also been a few wedding ceremonies there. Our resident font of all knowledge in the local pub told us that the pool is occasionally used by all-weather wild swimmers. When I mentioned this to the photographer he announced he hadn’t brought his swimming trunks. Not sure he had the right idea about ‘wild swimming’.
Image courtesy of Annabelle Bradley
The footpath from Malham starts from Malham Smithy, where the female blacksmith, Annabelle Bradley, runs blacksmith experience days, and also designs and hand forges sculptural and functional wrought ironwork. We’d stopped to watch her work from outside the door, earlier in the week. It was fascinating. Just leaving the link here, just in case you’re interested: https://www.malhamsmithyonline.co.uk/
Walking over a short bridge and alongside a small beck we went through fields and kissing gates. (No stiles!!)
On the footpath to Janet’s Foss a couple of old tree stumps have become home to hundreds of pennies where people have left them and made a wish to Janet.
We could smell the garlic even before we entered the wood.
Here I go again … can anyone else see the profile of a face in these rocks?
We stayed listening to the rhythmic flow of the water, and waiting for the mysterious green mist that was supposed to sometimes rise from the water- until the chattering and clattering of boots announced the arrival of walkers, and brought us back to reality.
Time to make our way back to the cottage we were staying in. Time to pack for our return home the following morning. Time for just one more glass of wine.
Remember me saying in the last post about our visit to Catrigg Force – a small but impressive waterfall just east of the village of Stainforth? And that the first time we found it we’d actually planned to call to see it as the first part of a massively, more strenuous, longer walk – a longer walk, planned by the photographer? One where we could take in the landscape from the Victoria Cave in Ribblesdale? And I said, more to come on that another time? Well, this is it. The above is the last (nearly last) part of the track up to the cave
Another of my photographs when I stopped to take a breath on the path (path?!!) on the way up to the cave. The photographer was already there. Give him his due, he did come back to help me to the top.
And here it it, the limestone Victoria Cave, located east of Langcliffe in Ribblesdale and discovered by chance in 1837, the year of Queen Victoria’s coronation.
Until then the cave was unknown. Tinsmith Michael Horner (1813-1878) struggled through a small hole between rocks,searching for his dog and found the cave. Inside tound bones, coins and various metal objects on the sediment floor. Later, on the 28th June 1838, Joseph Jackson, a keen amateur archaeologist, investigated further. The Victorians were fascinated by ‘bone caves’ where there might be a possibility of finding evidence for the earliest humans and extinct animals. Some animal bones were actually found here. It’s thought that hyenas used the cave as a den and dragged bones that had been scavenged into it, including hippos, narrow-nosed rhino, elephants and spotted hyenas bones. After the last Ice Age the cave was used by hibernating brown bears. In amongst the animal bones of reindeer was an 11,000 year old antler harpoon point, the first evidence for people in the Yorkshire Dales. Some items from the cave are held at the Craven Museum in Skipton.
The roof of the cave has become increasingly unstable over the years and roof falls are possible. We didn’t go in!
This is another one of my photos (yes I do know it’s less inspiring than the photographer’s). But I spotted this from up high, from outside the cave – and thought it was a large teddy bear, or the skeleton of a teddy bear!! Of course, when we got closer… it was just a pile of rocks. Note to self – contact optician
Just before we set off on the downward trail, and with an eye on the clouds bubbling up in the distance, a photograph of the next five miles we needed to go.
And it’s here I will reveal a moment of a basic and elementary photographer’s mistake.
” One last photo before the rain sets in,” he says, scanning the vista. “I didn’t realise it had become so dark so quickly.”
I waited, didn’t say a word while he huffed and puffed, and glared at the sky. For quite a while Then I stated the obvious. ” Your lens cap is still on.”
Good job he has a brilliant sense of humour!!
We followed the trail past the rugged terrain of the Warrendale Knotts before descending the hillside on the way back to Settle.
Where we had a well- earned cup of tea and a scone.
This was a walk we did twice when we were in the Yorkshire Dales. The second time we were here was by accident. We got lost – surprise, surprise – and came over a hill to find us again at …
Catrigg Force … a small but impressive waterfall just east of the village of Stainforth. The first time we found it we’d actually planned to call to see it as the first part of a longer walk (more to come on that another time!)
After a snack in the local pub (called the The Craven Heifer in Stainforth – spot a theme in these posts?!!) we headed up a bridleway called Goat Lane. (not sure why it’s called that, we only saw sheep and lambs – definitely no cows… well not at this point anyway!). The track, between parallel stone walls, is a small section of the Pennine Bridleway
We meandered along the upward track for about a mile, past several derelict farm buildings, and stopping to admire the view. In the distance on the moorland, are the Winskill Stones, pedestals of limestone and topped with slate, left behind by ice-age glaciers. Finally we reached the signpost for Catrigg Foss on the left of the track.
No stile this time, a kissing gate, leading to a steep, rocky, narrow, path, down to the stream, Catrigg Beck, which flows from the hills and feeds the waterfall.
The poor quality and lack of any particular viewpoint/perspective in this photograph is because it was taken by me, on my mobile phone, while balancing on the edge of the waterfall and hanging onto a branch of a nearby tree. All without the knowledge of the photographer, who’d wandered off to find the the base of the waterfall.
I followed. Leaving the stream, I made my way down another narrow path alongside a sheer wall of limestone rock and a tree-lined drop to a deep, hidden gully that holds the waterfall and the shallow river, the continuation of Catrigg Beck. There were two separate, quite magical falls, well over six metres in height in the long wooded copse. The sprays of water, a sparkling shower of colours in the sunshine that flickered through the leaves, landed all around us. The only sounds were the waterfalls and the calls of birds. Perfect peace …
Ah well… as I said, this was only the start of a massively, more strenuous, longer walk – a longer walk, planned by the photographer, to take in the landscape from the Victoria Cave in Ribblesdale (discovered by chance in 1837, the year of Queen Victoria’s coronation). This second time we were here was purely by coincidence, and at the end of a quite sedate walk … for us! We ambled through fields, back to where we were staying in a tiny cottage in Langcliffe.
By the way…
Apparently Catrigg Force was a favourite haunt of composer Edward Elgar. He visited the waterfalls and, during his visits to the Yorkshire Dales, was inspired to compose Pomp and Circumstance and the Enigma Variations, his most famous works.
Three fun facts about Elgar – Not only was he a composer, but he was also an amateur chemist. In his spare time, he would tinker with experiments. He was the first composer to fully embrace recording music. And he loved cycling. He had a Royal Sunbeam bicycle that he nicknamed ‘Mr. Phoebus. ‘
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I was promised an easy walk on one of the days. This is it; the Oxenber and Wharf Wood and Feizor walk from Austwick. It should have taken around two hours… we didn’t allow for the stiles.
We left Austwick by the Pennine Bridleway and walked over the Flascoe footbridge heading up the path towards Oxenber Wood.
We met the obligatory cow – who followed us along her side of the wall in the next field. In fact, by the time we reached the end of this path, there were six of them jostling for a view of us.
And the first of the stiles. This one was stone, sturdy, easy to climb over. We’ve got this sussed, I thought; easy walk, conventional stiles. The photographer couldn’t resist taking in the view of Austwick and the miles of glorious scenery around Ingleborough and Fountains Fell. Then he casually strode halfway over the stile – and was abruptly stopped when his rucksack decided to stay on the other side. We manhandled it over the wall, and carried on, ignoring the snorts from the cows…
And saw this…
Bluebells! Stretching seemingly for miles. And, miles away on the horizon … Pen y Ghent, the destination of one of our … hmm!… shall I say … more strenuous walks in that week: https://tinyurl.com/3e48vc7a
Hundreds of years ago, this area of woodland and pasture was part of the village quarry, and is still rough underfoot with hollows and dips under the grass. We were told it’s a site of special scientific interest and an area of conservation. The trees (as stated on the information board at the beginning of the walk) are mainly Ash, Hazel and Hawthorn.
As we clambered over the limestone rocks to enter the woods, a young man came puffing up behind us. He was a teacher, supposed to be on a day out with a colleague and their class from his school, but had overslept and was now in pursuit. We stopped to let him pass, pretending we didn’t need the break to get our breath back. That hill was steeper than we thought… or looks.
From the loud cheer that rang out a few minutes later, the teacher had obviously found the children.
In the woodland there were areas of slabs of limestone paving with various wild flowers and plants.
Wood Sorrel
Hart’s Tongue Fern.
Dog’s Mercury
There was quite a lot of the Dog’s Mercury (as stated on the Information Board) We were told, by a man in the pub where we were having a meal that evening – (we did seem to meet the local naturalist, whichever pub we went in) – that it is a poisonous coloniser of ancient woodland. But, if thoroughly dried, apparently (I’m stressing the “apparently” here), the plant loses its poisonous quality. The juice of the plant is emetic, ophthalmic and purgative, and can be used externally to treat ear and eye problems, warts, and sores. And other ailments!
As a writer I couldn’t help thinking about using this last plant in a story … to kill off a character … maybe?!!
We left the woods, through a wooden gate and onto a path which at first gently rose and then zig-zagged down through a jumble of exposed limestone towards the hamlet of Feizor. Where we stopped at a tea room for a cuppa.
Leaving the tea room we climbed over the first of five high stiles in a stone wall, and along a public footpath through four sloping fields.
You may have noticed that I have no photographs of the fields, nor of the stiles here. We were either too anxiously gazing across the fields, knowing we’d have difficulty both going back to the tea room lane or forwards to continue our walk. This was because of the stiles. There was the stile where the first stone step was three foot high in the wall (“You need to get your leg higher,” I encouraged the photographer), having only been able to reach it myself by taking a running jump at the thing. Then there was the one where the middle stone was broken off revealing only a sharp corner that protruded only enough for the toe of our boots (That one resulted in scraped shins). The two wooden stiles had seesaw wobbles enough to cause seasickness, and the next seemed fine until we found that the space in the wall for us to get through was the width off one boot only. (One narrow ladies’ walking boot – which isn’t mine) Which meant a dare-devil leap forward to the next field was the only way to ‘dismount’!)
At this point I said I was never going over another stile again. Before I saw the next one! We were only glad there was no one nearby who could see us struggling, or worse still, waiting for their turn to climb over any of them.
Finally we triumphed over the last stile (more a small hole in the wall, thankfully), and back onto the tarmac lane… when we realised that, if we’d only walked a few metres further along the lane after leaving the cafe, we would have met the main road that eventually led to the tarmac lane.
And on to the first path … where the cows were waiting for us.
And so into Austwick again.
‘Easier today wasn’t it? Rested now?’ He said later. ‘Try for a longer walk tomorrow?’
Malham Tarn is a shallow glacial lake three hundred and seventy seven metres above sea level, making it the highest lake in England. Situated above the village of Malham in the Yorkshire Dales National Park, it’s owned by the National Trust. It’s also the source of the River Aire; water flows out of the southern end of the lake and disappears underground to reappear as the River Aire at the foot of Malham Cove about one and a half miles away. Later, we were told by someone local that Malham Tarn is unusual because the water doesn’t sink into the ground. Apparently, during the Ice Age glaciers scraped away the the limestone down to the ancient slate layer underneath, and because slate is impermeable, it doesn’t let the water through. Then, when the glacier melted, the mouth of the Tarn was sealed by banks of clay and gravel.
I studied the map. ‘You said we were having an easy day today.’
‘I told you; eleven miles,’ said the photographer.
‘No, you said a mile.’
It’ s all flat, so it is easy… most of the way.’ And off he strides…
Towards some cows. Who look at us with interest and then decide to follow.
All the way as we walked along the shore of the tarn, through a gate and along a path into the woods.
We passed Tarn House, which was built as a hunting box in the late-18th century, and is now now owned by the National Trust. Used as a Field Studies Centre, there is an Orchid House, which usually has an exhibition area. Seeing the exhibition subject on our day, I passed by.
The house itself must once have been quite grand. It still is impressive, though obviously needs money spending on it.
There isn’t a lot of open water in the area, and, in the Stone Age, the lake was inundated with herds of wild animals, and consequently brought hunters from far and wide. Archaeologists have found the remains of their campsites and stone tools along the shoreline. We walked down to the bird hide.
Although we saw Canada geese, a pair of mallard ducks, a greater-spotted woodpecker – and many sparrows, this was the only other wildlife we found…
But what was really impressive was the man-made track that leads to the National Nature Reserve. We leisurely followed the boardwalk through the reserve for the next half an hour.
We came out of the reserve onto an unmade track . I expected to turn right to retrace our steps.
‘No left, we’re only halfway around the walk,’ the photographer said. Earlier on I’d seen this in the distance.
Reassured that he’d said the walk was a flat walk, I’d just admired the shape of Great Close Scar. I said nothing. I was saving my breath … and waiting…
More next time!
An evening stroll to see the vertical face of Malham Cove. It’s magnificent; standing at around seventy-nine metres of sheer rock, the top of the cove is a strange pattern of blocks of limestone. We could hear jackdaws, but knew it was too soon to see the pair of peregrine falcons or house martins that nest during the summer months. We did, however, see two mallard ducks strutting around the nearby stream, who eyed us for a minute or so before realising we had nothing for them, and strutted off.
Only one stile to clamber over … which made such a change (this is a hint of foreshadowing for the next walk… and the perils of a cavalier attitude towards stiles and the advancement of age!)
Formed along the line of the Middle Craven Fault, Malham Cove has been eroded back by the action of water and ice over millions of years. As glaciers moved forward they gauged rocks from the face of the Cove and carried them away. Then, each time the glaciers melted, the torrents of water also eroded the face of the Cove in the form of a massive waterfall.
The water flows underground now, then emerges as a shallow rocky stream.
There was no one else around… we thought … until we heard voices echoing eerily around the amphitheatre. Two men abseiling down the rock face (see them? Tiny figures perilously hanging from ropes?). I’m sure they knew what they were doing.. probably!
‘I’d like to do that,’ said the photographer.
‘No, you wouldn’t,’ I said. (Mind you, I have seen him hanging (also perilously) over the cliffs at home in Pembrokeshire just to get, “that brilliant shot” – so I know he’d be daft enough to have a go)
‘So … what’s tomorrow?’ I asked, as we plodded back over the stile and scrambled up a short rocky path to a field where a herd of cows watched with interest. And then followed us … closely (What is it with us and cows?)
‘I’ve found a good walk where there’s a gorgeous waterfall on the way.’
‘What do you mean, “On the way?”‘
He didn’t answer…
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