Date walked: 15th June 2013
All my photographs were taken on an iphone 5 and afterwards cropped and adjusted for exposure, shadows and highlights and contrast and then sharpened. Paul’s were taken on a compact and all I have done to them was apply the same sharpening.
Those interested in The Dales Way might like to look up the Dales Way Association website.
Bob and I had stayed the night at The Dalesman Country Inn and our companion, Paul, at a nearby Bed and breakfast. I was grateful to find that my room had a bath and to celebrate had made use of it last night and in the morning. The only thing I didn’t like about my room was that there was no opening window- in fact there was no window at all, just skylights. Which made it rather stuffy and I felt mildly claustrophobic.
Paul was waiting for us at 9.30am the next morning as arranged and we retraced our steps to the continuation of the path just before the bridge over the River Rawthey and we were soon by its banks.
It was a bright day and the path pleasantly shaded by trees with open views to pasture.
Our river was very quickly joined by the River Dee at what seemed like a most unnatural right-angle, but neither river were to be with us for long.
Passing by the rusting railway bridge spanning the river at Brigflatts,
we had to join the A683 briefly before heading across some fields to reach the banks of the River Lune at Lincoln’s Inn Bridge.
For the next three miles we delighted in the (rather gentle) Lune Gorge and its river, the route shared by the old Ingleton-Tebay railway line and a minor road, far enough way for us not to notice any traffic and hidden by trees. The rough pasture was divided by beautifully constructed walls and dotted with perfect specimens of mature oaks.
And then before us the most wonderful Lune Viaduct, its majestic stone pillars spanned by an elegant iron bridge.
I waited patiently and in vain for the sun to illuminate the bridge; Paul’s picture is better in all respects than any that I took.
Speakman describes this “Victorian railway architecture at its best” as “brooding”, but I would suggest “gently assertive” is more apt. I agree with him that, given its now total redundancy it seems like an extravagant folly.
Such a shame that it is not been brought into use as a walking route or cycleway.
After the viaduct the path climbed to afford us a better view of it and then undulated through open fields sparsely populated by sheep and cows.
We passed a most intriguing small barn which led to some speculation about the function of its associated walls. Penning for sheep was our collective agreement.
Then we were returned to the river bank, though the more demanding views were to the distant Howgill Fell.
The most handsome Crook of Lune bridge where we crossed the Lune …….
…..was quickly followed by the huge Lowgill viaduct.
The locals are clearly threatened with a wind turbine power station (one should not refer to these useless monstrosities as “farms”). Bob likes them and he is being, I suggest, ironic in this posed picture of belligerence by a protestors sign.
From Lowgill we climbed steadily until passing a small group of other walkers who were somewhat recklessly taking their dog through a field of cows with their calves. The cows were not best pleased. I thought the rather attractive farm hand that sped by on her quad bike was going to accost them but she only seemed concerned with throwing down some pellets for the sheep.
The M6 crossed we could hardly be thought to be in the Dales any longer but no matter, the backdrop of the fells behind us and the foothills of the Lake District ahead still provided us with views to enjoy and the walking was easy enough.
Approaching Moresdale Hall (thanks to Paul for this excellent pic)
I was rather taken by this very friendly sign inviting us to use their loo or have a cup of tea.
We crossed the railway line at Beck Houses where we had a sit by the roadside and a think. We had not had any lunch and had begun to hope miles back for some refreshment opportunity to arise but none had materialized. I had nothing but Paul had a two-day old sandwich, a packet of crisps and a biscuit which he very generously shared with us. I had hoped he might bless it for us and that it might miraculously increase its calories but I was grateful for the morsel anyway. We also needed to locate where Paul was staying and I came up with the ingenious idea of telephoning his hotel. We discovered that it was not in Kendal at all (where Bob and I were staying) but two miles outside town.
We pondered on this as we continued, a little wearily, through the perfectly pleasant but rather unremarkable countryside.
Black Moss Tarn was the next landmark of note and I just had time to take this pic before my battery had run out (cue for Anne to gloat about how useless iphone’s are for not being able to use spare batteries).
But In fact I later discovered as we were approaching Burneside that in fact I had just switched the phone off by mistake.
By this time Paul had resolved that he would make his way to his hotel and have a quiet night. We passed over the map and our good wishes for his evening.
Neither Bob or I fancied walking the extra mile and a half detour into Kendal where he had booked us into a pub, so fortified by an excellent bag of chips from the chippy next to the very shabby and closed pub of this dreary village, we caught the train instead for a 10 minute ride. Somewhat rested and using my GPS map app on the phone I negotiated our way through Kendal to the Shakespeare Inn. Although our rooms were OK in its cul-de-sac it was not a place we wanted to drink, so the crib game took place up the road (having also rejected the dreadfully noisy and unappealing Wetherspoons). Supper was taken at the very kitsch but also very good Jintana Thai restaurant (as recommended by the barmaid at the pub). I indulged myself in long and fruity cocktails. Bob stuck to beer. The walk back to our rooms was fun. As soon as we left the restaurant it poured down and we criss-crossed up the street between showers, sheltering in doorways whist mad people got soaked to the skin.