Alsace 2026

In August I spent a week with a friend at the Sipp Mack winery in Hunawihr in Alsace, France. We had hoped to do some walking but it was extremely hot, so we didn't do a great deal. The scenery was lovely though, as were the food and wine.

Just north of Hunawihr is Ribeauvillé, a pretty town of half-timbered houses and giftshops. Above the town are the famous Trois Chateaux de Ribeauvillé, a walk we would do later in the week.

Trois Chateaux de Ribeauvillé

The towns were full of colourful flowers which attracted the insects.

There were a lot of hummingbird hawk-moths around

Ribeauvillé

Ribeauvillé

It was about 2km from Hunawihr to Ribeauvillé, passing through lots of vineyards.

Old vines

Above Hunawihr

In Bergheim

On one day, my friend drove us up to the Grand Ballon, the highest point in the Vosges Mountains at 1424m. You park around 1300m so it's not a hard climb! The cooler air (20 degrees instead of 30) and breeze were most welcome.

The Vosges from the Grand Ballon

Lots of fritillaries (I think), mostly with battered wings

The Grand Ballon was very busy but when we dropped off the summit to the Col du Haag in order to climb the Storkenkopf, it got much quieter.

Cows clanking their bells, Alpine-style, at the Col du Haag

Looking back to the Grand Ballon from the Storkenkopf

For the Three Castles walk, we walked over to Ribeauvillé and then up through the woods, glad of the shade. There were gentle, wide forest rides taking us inexorably upwards. The whole walk was about 13km, completed after an excellent lunch at the Cheval Blanc in Ribeauvillé .

Woodland ride

Hunawihr from the Hinterluetzelbach ridge

Chateau Ribeaupierre

Chateau Girsberg

Another day we walked out of the village straight into the wooded hills behind it and wound our way up more forest rides to the Col de Seelacker. Had we got our timing right we would have continued to the auberge at St Alexis, but it was closed that day, so we cut down to Riquewihr instead to fuel up with superb sea bass and Riesling at l'Ecurie. With the 2km walk back, it was again around 13km for the day.

Fritillary on hemp-agrimony

 

Howgills and Limestone Trail

22nd June: Kirkby Stephen – Ravenstonedale: 14km

It is always a good start when the trains work.  Given that I had two connections to get, I had included lots of contingency so it took over 5 hours from home to the finish.  I hadn’t travelled beyond Dent before, so the views up Mallerstang were wonderful, as were those earlier up Dent Dale, which was lush and green.  Jill was waiting at the station and dropped me by the market place in town, where she was going to have a short wander by the river.  I did something similar, following the Poetry Path, though the carved stones were so weathered it was hard to read anything.

John Waller Monument, Kirkby Stephen

After that I curved round Croglam Castle and joined the Coast to Coast Path, where there were a few people coming the other way.  I wasn’t on that route for long, heading towards Smardale Hall and the old railway line, the entrance to which was slightly harder to find than expected.  It was a cloudy day, warm but not overly so.  The track was shaded and lined with a great array of wildflowers: bloody cranesbill, common spotted orchids, buttercups, speedwell, yellow rattle.  There was a glimpse of the viaduct ahead but better than that was the dizzying view to the valley below from the viaduct itself.  With all this vegetation around, I was plagued the whole day with insects, particularly horseflies, who gave me over a dozen welts, even biting through my tee shirt.  It made me paranoid for the rest of the week.

Leaving Kirkby Stephen

Smardale Viaduct

View from Smardale Viaduct

I went wrong a few times in the fields towards Ravenstonedale before finally meeting Jill and getting a pint in the King’s Head.  From there we travelled to our accommodation in Sedbergh – a lovely cottage down a back alley – and then out for dinner at the Dalesman (pricey but very good).  We also met up for a drink or two with a bloke from work who lives in the town.  On the way back to the cottage a swift zoomed out from below the eaves of a building on the corner, passing within inches of our heads in the twilight.

Howgills in the distance

23rd June: Ravenstonedale – Sedbergh: 21km

My basement room was nice and cool, so I slept well.  Breakfast (and lunch) was from a takeaway shop called Number 46.  Jill dropped me back at Ravenstonedale and off I went.  The first turn off the road was a stumble between hurdles and over a collapsed wall.  It was a sign of things to come. After a little more road walking, the path headed into an overgrown bog then into an abandoned plant nursery, also overgrown and boggy.  On the far side, rather than follow the route, I took to a good track which was longer but far easier.  It was already too warm for thrashing around through that rubbish.

A path that isn't boggy

The route was supposed to go up Bowderdale before climbing at the head of the valley, however, given the warmth of the day and the prospect of a cooling breeze, I thought my better option would be to follow the Dales High Way up the ridge instead rather than stay in the valley’s shelter.  The gradient looked absolutely fine and I could take it nice and steady.  Higher up the ridge, the hills rose up around me. They looked magnificent.  Below me a silvery beck snaked up Langdale.  The further I went, the more it felt like the Scottish Highlands, if less high and less rocky.  It was that sense of isolation and remoteness.  And perhaps the bogginess.  I saw someone near Hazelgill Knott but was slightly off-path so passed at a distance.  The next person was at the Calf and then another was pushing his bike up the far side of Calders.  They were the only people I saw before Sedbergh.

Langdale

Arant Haw

The distant views were hazy in the heat but close-to was marvellous, with steep climbs from the valleys and ridgelines strung between the tops.  The breeze was keeping temperatures manageable too.  All good things come to an end and I descended the Dales High Way between Winder and Crook, a delightful valley, back into Sedbergh, running out of water just as I reached the houses.

Settlebeck Gill

That evening we ate in the Red Lion and had a few beers in the Half and Half, which I think was open particularly for the football (which we ignored).

24th June: Sedbergh – Casterton: 21km

Again I picked up breakfast and lunch at Number 46.  The walk began through the famous school and down to the River Rawthey, looking dramatically rocky.  I was feeling somewhat distracted, for  reasons outside this report, and ended up on the wrong path, meaning I did more climbing in the already warm air, and I struggled pathlessly back to the right line.  My motivation was rather low as I approached the start of the day’s proper climbing, the long flog up to Calf Top.  In the distance I could see huge, empty tops and wondered if the far one was my goal (it was).  There didn’t seem to be much wind around as I slowly plodded upwards, first on tarmac and then on ATV tracks.  These multiplied further up and I found myself again off-path.  After some grinding ascents over rough terrain, and a rest stop for food (with good views back to the Howgills), I eventually got back on path.  This was still a bit of a slog but at least there was some breeze.  Skylarks were soundtracking the day, as they had done the day before, and near the summit there were a lot of gulls.  I know they nest on top of the Bowland Fells, so perhaps they were nesting here too.

Looking back to Sedbergh

Calf Top

The summit had impressive, if hazy, views of the big lumps all around, less hunched up together than the Howgill Fells.  After another snack stop I began the descent, which inevitably included a disappointing amount of ascent.  The lower I got, the warmer it got, so I stopped to rest again on the attractively rocky top of Eskholme Pike above Barbon.  The route officially stops in the village but the pub wasn’t open until 5, so I pushed on across the fields to Casterton, where the Pheasant Inn was open.  Coming into the village I met the first person I had seen since leaving Sedbergh, a young woman who gave me a cheery greeting.  Shortly later she appeared behind the bar of the pub, so she was the also the fourth person I had seen (second being Jill and third being the other barmaid).

Eskholme Pike

We drove down to Settle where we were staying for the rest of the week at the King William IV guesthouse.  The hosts were very friendly and the rooms very good, though mine was extremely warm.  Luckily they had provided a mini-fridge for me to store water bottles.  Dinner was two doors down at the Talbot, after which we had a wander round some of the other pubs, the Golden Lion looking promising.

25th June: Ireby – Ingleton: 11km

I had a family meeting in Harrogate in the afternoon, so I couldn’t do my full route, instead just covering the last 10km (more on this in a second).  Jill dropped me off in the tiny village of Ireby and I headed out across the fields.  When I reached Masongill and went to have a drink of water, I found my one bottle absent.  I must have dropped it back on the path, so I had to backtrack – apart from the litter, I couldn’t continue in the heat without water.  Eventually I found it at the place I sort of expected: below a stone step stile over a stone wall with a narrow gap and a viciously-sprung gate at the top.  I must have caught the bottle on a step and knocked it out of the pocket.  This added another kilometre and a load of bother.

Tow Scar

The road climbed steadily before becoming a track and then a trod across the bouldery and attractive top of Tow Scar, with views to the patchwork farmland of Lonsdale.  From there I headed towards Thornton Force where the path quality improved, but the busyness increased too.  A group of schoolgirls in hijabs and long sleeves were slogging up the valley, each of them holding a portable electric fan. ‘There’s an ice cream van at the top,’ I said.  ‘We’ve got no money,’ one moaned.  Oh well.  The waterfall itself was impressive, wider and higher than I had expected, and set in a bowl of refulgent greenery.  There were quite a lot of people around, picnicking or bathing, so I didn’t hang around, instead climbing out of the valley towards Thornton Hall.  The waymarkers here didn’t seem right so I set off across a field before checking my GPS and finding they had been right after all.  In getting back on track I almost stood on a partridge nesting in the long grass.  It eyed me warily and I moved quickly on before I disturbed it (though I still regret not taking a picture).

Thornton Force

After the trip to Harrogate was concluded, we ate a good dinner in the Golden Lion, checked out the Royal Oak (not much good) and had a last one at our ‘local’, the Talbot.

26th June: Ingleton – Settle: 24km

There was some rain overnight which left the morning initially feeling quite fresh.  It wouldn’t last. Before breakfast I popped out for a sandwich at the Dales Deli.  The proprietress apologised that her main fridge had packed in because of the previous day’s heat, but she made me a very tasty ham butty all the same.  Jill dropped me early back at Ingleton before returning to take the train to Carlisle.  My route was up Ingleborough via a route I had not done before.  It started climbing immediately, first on tarmac and then on a track.  It was already blisteringly hot and the high stone walls by the track effectively blocked any breeze.  Ingleborough’s square top loomed up ahead of me, looking steep.  I passed one woman coming down, wreathed in sweat, and another on her way up, seemingly coming to a standstill.  I was surprised to find a farm, Crina Bottom, high up on the hillside, looking rather idyllic.

Climbing out of Ingleton

Crina Bottom and Ingleborough

Towards the top there were a couple of steep, stepped sections which had me walking at a crawl and puffing like a knackered engine (it took me about 20mins to do the last 100m of ascent).  It was a relief to reach the wide open space of the summit.  A lad taking pictures passed a word and then made his way down, making me the sole possessor of the entire plateau.  Unprecedented!  To make the most of my efforts I had a good wander round, a stop at the shelter for food (sitting in the windiest seat I could find, contrary to normal practice), and took some pictures out to Ribblehead before finally deciding I should push on.

View from Ingleborough

From there I headed to Sulber and them Moughton Scars above Crummack Dale, again somewhere new to me.  It was beautiful: the limestone pavements, the cliffs and crags, the tumbled boulders. Lovely stuff.  The paths were a little sketchy though as I wound my way towards the trig point, hopping from faint trod to faint trod across limestone blocks and past twisted juniper trees.  All very nice to look at but punishing to walk over in the heat of the day.  I found my way pathlessly to Moughton Nab where a narrow, steep path took me round the great scar of Dry Rigg Quarry.

Beggar's Stile, Crummack Dale

Moughton Scars

Juniper

The day was feeling long so I stopped to gasp for breath and eat a snack.  The next section was a long one on tarmac.  The tar-blistered roads reflected the heat back.  Passing cars popped the bubbles on the surface.  Up the road rose, endlessly.  When it finally dipped and turned towards Stainforth, I felt much relief.  This was short-lived as I heard music blasting out.  By the river path, a number of cars were parked on double-yellow lines.  By Stainforth Force itself were big crowds of people: family groups, young people sunning themselves or swimming, and one group with a huge speaker stack, the source of the music.  I didn’t stop to look at the falls, just heading immediately away.  It isn’t my way to enjoy the countryside.

Moughton Nab

 Along the river path I could hear rolls of thunder and see dark clouds massing to the south-east.  I had a mission to get to Settle before it all kicked off.  It was a mission that did not succeed.  About 20 minutes out of town the rain began, cranking it up to 11.  It was possibly the heaviest rain I have ever walked in.  At times I was checking it wasn’t hail.  Sheltering beneath trees, as the sheep were doing, didn’t seem to help so I just pushed on.  I was soaked through by the time it relented, which was just as I entered the town.  Dripping wet, I walked into the Lion and sat on a mat to prevent the seat from getting wet while I had my pint.  We returned later for dinner and finished the evening listening to music at the Talbot.  A difficult week done.

In memoriam: Eileen Beman

Mum and I were quite similar in many ways.  Our love of literature and of art; our shyness; our fondness for a silly joke; our care for each other.

We kept each other company throughout our lives.  As a child, I would take her morning cup of tea up to her in bed and have a quick chat before going for the school bus.  After school I would join her in the kitchen and chat about my day while she cooked the dinner, baked something or did one of her other chores.  Together we would try different kinds of food that the others wouldn’t touch – liver in gravy! pasta! curry!  That helped form my taste for exotic food, though I do regret once trying pig’s ears.

She used to read to us as children and I would find myself in later life watching, say, an unfamiliar Shakespeare play but hearing a familiar line.  When I would ask about it, she would say, ‘Oh yes, I read that to you from Palgrave’s Golden Treasury’ or some such book.

She bought me books my whole life, from the Septimus ecclesiastical mystery novels right up to this last Christmas when she gave me a book about sheep.  We used to discuss books and swap them, praise them and damn them.  She was an endless resource of literary knowledge.

In later years there were tough times, but we would have a lot of fun too when I went to stay with her and Richard.  One Boxing Day when the roads were closed with snow, we sat in the Black Bull in Boroughbridge while one fella sang folk songs and Terry the landlord crooned some of his favourite tunes – for the price of a donation in the charity box.  Another Christmas when we drove down a long, rough track to Ivan and Jean’s remote house in the Yorkshire countryside.  It was a house full of characters.  There was Ivan with his vats of homemade wine, and a bloke called Ghandi.  I ended the evening eating cheese and drinking whisky with a blind waterskiing champion.  One day, one of their friends in Boroughbridge, Paddy – whose real name was Naomi but she was Irish – came round and seemed to get drunk without drinking anything.  She proceeded to act out various scenes from the Full Monty before I escorted her home. As a thank you, she gave me a marrow from the fruit and veg shop below her flat.  It tasted rather bland.  I will miss reminiscing about those times and laughing at the memories.

Mum was always a great supporter of mine, praising me for the photos I took on my walks or for the writing I produced.  I will miss her support; I will miss sharing pictures of Herdwick sheep that I always made sure to take in the Lake District; I will miss her being there for me to turn to but I will always be grateful for what she gave to me, what she did for me.

In her papers, we found she had kept all sorts of things of ours: letters, postcards, Mother’s Day cards.  Paper effigies, Philip Larkin might say, ‘that prove our almost-instinct almost true, what survives of us is love’.

One Mother’s Day card contained a poem I had written as a present some 25 years ago I guess.  If you’ll pardon the self-indulgence, I’ll read it now.

Folding Sheets

Folding washed sheets with my mother
Was something I often did.
It was to do with being left-handed,
A complementary partnership.
The sheet would billow out between us,
A corner in each hand.
We would step back and fold it
Lengthways once.
Then, like mirror images,
We would drop a reflected arm
To grasp and shake the crease,
Not twisting the sheet around
As a right-hander would,
Before moving together,
Handing the bundle over.

Picking from the basket,
We would work through the pile,
In the kitchen or the garden, if fine.
And then, when we had finished
Following our steps,
Perhaps I should have bowed,
And thanked her for the dance.

Buxton – Ravenstor YHA – Hathersage: June 2026

14th June: Buxton – Flagg – Ravenstor YHA: 18km

Wondering where I might go away, for various logistical reasons I decided on a night at a YHA in the Peak District rather than a couple of nights in a tent in the Lake District.  To that end, I got a late morning train to Buxton to find it slightly chillier than expected.  I pulled my hood up to get a feeling of anonymity in the busy town and slipped quickly through quiet backstreets into the countryside. 

Deep Dale

Chelmorton

Flagg

Out near Sladen, on the Limestone Trail, some swifts were swooping above a field of new-mown grass, and beyond that, crossing a field full of wildflowers, I felt my heart open up and my mood lift.  There were voices below me in Deep Dale, seemingly heading towards the closed section, then a bloke on the far side, a couple of DoE groups in Chelmorton, and then no one until Taddington, apart from farmers raking hay or scooping it into trailers.  Just outside Taddington, in the sunshine, I sat by a small pond on the Jarnett (a road) for a sandwich amongst tall marsh orchids and skimming dragonflies.  With plenty of time before check-in, I called into the Queen’s Arms for a pint.

Taddington

Marsh orchids near Taddington

Taddington

Brushfield above Miller's Dale

More lovely field-walking took me across the serene High Dale then down the valley side, which was covered in common spotted orchids, to Litton Mill.  A Dutch couple in a campervan were catching the late afternoon sun and watched me go the wrong way through a miniature forests of butterbur leaves before I got to the steps up Bellamy’s Bank (named after the late naturalist).  The path took me through the grounds of the YHA, which is a grand house built in 1907 by the owner of Litton Mill.  I had a burger at the hostel then walked down to the Angler’s Rest, sitting out by the river and watching grey wagtails jump for insects.  The landlady called time early as I was the only customer left, so I headed back to the hostel to read my book, happy with a satisfying day.

Ravenstor YHA in Miller's Dale

15th June: Ravenstor YHA – Hathersage: 23km

After breakfast in the restaurant, I heaved by bag onto my back and set out back to the mill.  It felt chilly in a cold breeze and I wondered if I should have brought gloves.  Once I had passed a couple of dog walkers near the houses, I saw no one until Coombs Dale about 2½ hours later.  Water-cum-Jolly Dale was pleasant with the gurgle of water and the calls of birds.  Cressbrook Dale was shaded in the lush tree-cover but I was rather put off by the smell of the rotting wild garlic.  I climbed up and round Wardlow Hay Cop, using the concessionary footpath up to Castlegate Lane.  I had various options here and I chose to go over the top of Longstone Moor.  It was a good choice as it was a delight to walk there amongst the heather with somewhat hazy views north to Abney Moor and south around Bakewell.

Cressbrook Dale

Looking down to Eyam

Bretton Clough

Coombs Dale actually felt a bit of a drag, I always forget how long it is, and there was a short time when it got busy with a number of couples and some DoE groups.  I cut across to Stoney Middleton and up to Eyam where I called into the friendly village shop to get some lunch, which I ate in the main square.  My cue to leave was a group of young kids being led round on a school trip.  The next section was slow as I climbed up and up...and up to Sir William Hill.  It was also at this point that rain started to fall.  I put my coat on but the rain was very light and I was soon stuffing it back into the bag again.

Rabbit keeping very still

Hathersage was in sight as I dropped into the greenery of Bretton Clough.  High Low Wood was busy with wood ants as usual, building huge mounds of pine needles as nests.  The final section along tarmac and pavements was a drag again but soon over, and before long I was supping a pint in the Little John, waiting for my train home.  It was a thoroughly enjoyable couple of days, passing through some of my favourite countryside and seeing some gorgeous sights.