Stanza Stones Trail Day 2

‘The plates are very hot,’ the landlord told us as he delivered our breakfasts, ‘but the food’s cold.’  The bacon, sausages and the rest were, of course, warm and lovely, setting us up for another day.  The pub didn’t do packed lunches but our man recommended we call in at the nearby Post Office and general shop in Chiserley to get something.  The shop was a compact warehouse of all kinds of handy items from fruit to chocolate bars, from bottles of wine to Fray Bentos tinned pies.  The lad who was serving went to the kitchen behind the counter to make my ham sandwich while a lady served our landlord, who had just come in.  ‘See,’ he said to me, ‘it wasn’t just a rumour that you could get your lunch here.’  ‘How much change do I owe you?’ the shopkeeper asked our man, ‘I chucked your money in and now I’ve forgotten.’  ‘30p.  And I’ll take any tenners you’ve got in there too.’

My day’s walking started at the pub (I was cheating a bit by not dropping back into town to start the day, but it seemed ridiculous to go down there just to walk back past the pub.  I knew I was only letting myself down, so that was all right).  The skies, after being clear and sunny when we woke up, were now covered in cloud and soon after the rain began.  At first this seemed ominous, but luckily it soon stopped, though yesterday’s wind was still hanging around to chill the air.  Up on the hill, with the wind blowing, I found myself in the middle of a huge ocean of pink and purple heather, stretching out over the hilltops ahead of me.  A narrow, rocky path led me through the colourful scene.

Having just climbed up onto Wadsworth Moor and its ocean of heather, I now had to drop down into a valley.  Again I found myself on a narrow, overgrown path.  This was head-high with bracken which obscured the tiny track under my feet and I had to keep shoving the vegetation aside in order to see what I was stepping on.  This was important as the surface was wet and covered in loose rocks, and the path was extremely steep.  I tripped slightly at one point as the bracken stems lassoed my shins and for a heart-stopping moment thought I was going to somersault all the way down to the farm below.

It was slow going but I got there in one piece and then was faced with a steep climb up the other side.  This time the moor, Warley Moor, was open and bare, populated with cows and sheep.  The wind whipped into me and the path dragged on and on to the distant top.  I eyed the ‘rocking stone’ described on the map but in the gale and on boggy land, I just couldn’t bring myself to make the detour.

The right-of-way seemed to go straight through Slade Farm but its fences didn’t look very inviting so I circumnavigated the perimeter through a deeply muddy, cow-trodden field, past some piles of rubble and waste, onto the farm track, where a pair of dogs behind a gate suddenly leapt into life and barked like mad things, making me jump out of my skin.  They continued to bark at me, now they knew I was there, until I reached the main road, making me grumble even more.

Out on the road I stepped into a terrific headwind.  The wind kept nudging me, like someone trying to annoy you by repeatedly poking at you.  Nudge.  ‘Quit it.’  Nudge.  ‘Quit it.’  Nudge.  ‘Quit it.’  Nudge.  ‘I KILL YOU!’  It pushed, it shoved, it body-slammed me, tirelessly.  An old beardy bloke on a bike pedalled slowly past me.  ‘Lovely day,’ he shouted above the wind’s roar, ‘Invigorating.’  ‘Blows the cobwebs away,’ I answered.  Appreciating my irony, he obligingly laughed.  A police car rolled past, but didn’t offer me a lift.

Finally I turned off the road, through some fascinating old quarry workings and out to a stone wall with a seat in it where Jill was waiting.  On the seat, behind which Jill told me the Mist stone was, it was beautifully sheltered from the wind and its constant, lunatic yammer in my ears.  We sat for a while admiring the excellent view from the edge of moor, looking down over Oxenhope, and then did the tiny scramble to the stone.  The sky was clearing and things were looking up.

After waving Jill off I marched across the moor on another diversion to a trig point, this time somewhat more easy going a route than the previous day’s.  All the same, I was starting to feel tired as I walked along narrow lanes towards Cullingworth.  The road was long and the tarmac unforgiving.  I was just slogging along.  Then, as happens, the endorphins came back on-stream and I was feeling better again, singing ‘On Ilkley Moor’ (spied in the distance from the Mist stone).  At the far side of Cullingworth I dropped into Goitstock Wood for a bit of a change of scene.  It was a good choice.  The sunlight dappled through the leaves above as I wound alongside a rocky path through the trees, with the stream chattering over rocks to my left.  Further on it got even better as I passed a small waterfall which tumbled into a sunny pool, overhung with bright green ferns.  Mayflies danced in swarms above the water as spray drifted across to me.  It was just a wonderful place.  Instead of tiredness or delirium, I was taken outside myself, thinking of nothing but the surprising beauty of the wood.

For the rest of the walk I was flying, chatting with other passers-by about the unexpectedly good weather, and admiring the simple charm of stonewalled fields.  Beyond the woods south of Bingley, I could see that the dark clouds that had hung above Ilkley Moor all day were still there and, crossing Shipley golf course, a few spots fell, but they couldn’t dampen my mood.  Big, white-washed boulders led the way across the quiet links and into town.  I had arranged to meet Jill in the Library Tap on the main street in Bingley but as I came up I could hear loud singing, like some afternoon karaoke session.  At the door, I turned around and headed up to Wetherspoon’s.  I was early and was planning to call Jill to let her know the change of plan but I heard her call out to me from the other side of the road.  She had also turned down the Library Tap, having come back from a wander round Haworth, and was just waiting for me to arrive.

Back at the Hare and Hounds later, I had a delicious venison burger, a few pints, and a relatively early night.

For more about the Stanza Stones Trail see Ilkley Literature Festival