Day Twenty Six

Thursday 1 April - Cowling to Malham.

Wot no moors? The whole character of the landscape had changed. As I struck North from Ickornshaw I was crossing farmland, mostly pasture, often occupied by sheep and their recent offspring. I passed thousands of new-born lambs in the week, some boldly checking out this strange creature in their midst, others hiding coyly behind their mums.

The PW descends to Lothersdale, but soon leaves it again to continue North through more fields then – aargh! - another moor. Elslack Moor was as soggy as its brothers and sisters, but it was a comparatively small affair, and the next moor (Thornton) was no problem, since the PW keeps to a quiet road for this stretch.

An idyllic lane led me into Thornton-in-Craven, but again the PW just scratches the surface of the village before heading for the pastures. I had not been paying much attention to the map so, climbing an embankment, I was surprised to meet the Leeds and Liverpool Canal.

“Over a distance of 127 miles it crosses the Pennines, and includes 91 locks on the main line. The canal took almost 40 years to complete, in crossing the Pennines the Leeds and Liverpool had been beaten by the Huddersfield Narrow Canal and the Rochdale Canal. The most important cargo was always coal, with over a million tons per year being delivered to Liverpool in the 1860s, with smaller amounts exported via the old Douglas Navigation. Even in Yorkshire, more coal was carried than limestone. Trade continued on the canal until as late as the 1980s.” (Wikipedia).

The Pennine Way follows the towpath for about half a mile, passing East Marton, before leaving the canal to continue its tortuous route to Gargrave, which the walking route reached much more directly. Gargrave also has a station on the Carlisle to Settle railway line, which was to serve me well later in the week.

No diversion was necessary to find my lunch stop – the Dalesman Cafe & Sweet Emporium is right on the route. I was worried about my begrimed state, but my concerns were kindly waved away. One Dalesman's Lunch later (like a ploughman's but with added ham), I resumed my walk to Malham. A complication had arisen – one of my boots had sprung a leak, with the toe-cap threatening to part company with the rest of the boot. Replacements could be had at Malham, but could I get there in time? A combination of my clever phone and some local knowledge gleaned from a call to my Malhan b&b enabled me to contact the gear shop. Don't worry, said the owner, we're decorating ready for Easter, so we will be here when you arrive. I promised to phone later with a progress report, but a dicey signal cut short my attempt.

In the meantime I managed to stray from the route twice within a mile, making me even later. But the walking was good, up the banks of the River Aire. I passed Airton on the opposite bank, but I walked through Hanliff, dominated by the eponymous hall, berfore resuming the riverside ramble. Ironically, conditions underfoot were drier than they had been for days, so the hole in my boot was no immediate handicap.

Nevertheless, my first port of call in Malham was the outdoor shop where, as the owners cheerfully banged, drilled and painted, I tried on boots. I later found traces of fresh paint on my stick and rucksack cover – I hope I didn't spoil the new decoration too much. I trotted off to my b&b in embarrassingly new boots, while the old ones festered in a rubbish box at the shop.