Horton in Ribblesdale
I'm not going to lie to you. Today was a day I was dreading. I was worried about my fitness. I was worried about the climb. I was worried about the weather. I was overall, worried.
After yesterday I was quite down hearted. I hadn't slept well the night before and although food had been good, it hadn't agreed with me. Then I found the traipsing through fields claggy, muddy and hard. Spending all day listening to the suction sound of freeing your feet is no fun. Then no shower. And no heat to dry things. I went to bed filled with dread.
I started my day feeling better. I slept well. I had a good breakfast. So, setting off I felt ok. I had to wait around until the shop opened to get a sandwich then I was off.
I was surprised that I felt ok. Quite good actually. Happily walking along munching at the extra breakfast hash browns I'd sneaked into my bag. Malham cove is really amazing. It's a prehistoric landscape with water worn stones dotting the flat ground surrounded by a wall of limestone stretching up into the sky. Making my way down to it then up and over again I found my path. I felt like the only person in the world.
The path was easy to follow and vitally - due to the change in geology according to the guidebook - it held under foot.
I made it to Malham Tarn where I walked for a while with two ultra runners out for a stroll. They loved mud on their runs but were most unimpressed with their [insert technical name here] soles. I stopped for lunch just as the rain started.
The rain was a feature of the rest of the day. It never quite went away. I made it to the first summit and sheltering by a wall stopped for more lunch. I was quite impressed with myself. Still feeling good and still loving the landscape. Soaked despite hundreds of pounds of gear - to the bone.
Descending down from the cloud line and yet still in the rain I didn't stop for long. I was getting cold and decisions needed to be made. This bad weather wasn't filling me with confidence when it came to the much talked about Penn Y Ghent. I knew I could bypass it but, I also knew that would probably take longer. So up I went. The weather was bad, visibility was bad and news flash - my fear of heights is still bad.
All was going well until I hit scramble number one. I didn't like it. I hated it but I did it. I checked the map, one more and I'd be at the plateau. The one more nearly made me cry. I hate climbing (lose definition) with a rucksack on. My wet legs and 2 layers of trousers didn't allow much movement and the cloud made anything beyond 10m feel like a void.
To add insult to injury a fell runner popped in past me, gone before I could even notice his route.
But, choices in such situations are limited. Sit down and cry or carry on and whimper. I whimpered and off I went.
It was a brief whimper and then in the distance through the cloud the glorious sight of a trig point. I may possibly have cried. I sat down and sent a text - the time was late the signal was good - before crossing the wall.
Over the style the weather whipped up off the valley. The wind went up my nose. There was no stopping for more lunch. I was wet and stopping made me cold. I ate some wine gums and began a speedy descent.
The visibility was rotten. Down to five metres. Round the pot the weather was brutal. Sideways rain and breath taking wind. I have to say, I really was loving life.
One hour later and I reached the village. The pub is welcoming. Real fire, rooms from the 80s (optimistic guess there, it's like staying with an elderly relative in 1985). There's a nice warm bath with a thoughtfully provided jug to wash your hair.
Food is just what I need and the dining room is filled with Three Peaks and Pennine Way walkers.
This is absolutely my best day so far.
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