I sat at my writing desk yesterday, staring at the snow gathering fast and thick before the eyes, coating the world outside with a thick layer of icing, rather assiduously. But I found myself thinking of Malham Dales. We were there last year around this time. It is a powerful memory, the kinds that stick with every iota of detail lodged into the cells, for our walk there had gathered momentum, assumed a life of its own. Now, this is a walk that has recently been declared by ITV to be amongst the top three in its list of a hundred ‘rambles, scrambles and ambles’ in Britain and North Ireland. But we did not know then of its upcoming celebrity status as one of Britain’s best walks (do watch the link at the end of the post, it is loaded with the most scenic walks in the British countryside).
Malham is a quiet village in the Yorkshire Dales, dotted with stone cottages, warm country pubs and ancient stone bridges traversed by packhorses once. The road to Malham, for us, was paved by 10 random stops because I had decided to change my blog host from WordPress to Siteground. That was all in vain. I ended up making the change this year, and keeping in mind the association, I could not help slipping in that photo of the limestone pavement of Malham in my earlier post.
A strange lunar landscape and a solitary tree sticking out of it. That is the draw of Malham.
But I am not a woman of few words and to let you go just like that would be monstrously unfair on my partiality towards chattering more than I should. Adi bemoans that I take five lines where he makes do with one. Usually that word is ‘nice’. I have naturally developed an antipathy to ‘nice’.
We stopped for a spot of Sunday brunch at a country inn where to the tune of hoppy ale, roast meat and Yorkshire puds, we were subjected to friendly interjections from a bald guy in a leather jacket, his girlfriend, and their hound who sat underfoot, throwing a hissy fit when another of his kind invaded his territory. Adi clammed up as he does when he is feeling particularly unsocial, so it was left upon me to be the picture of amiability. Frequent smiles and aching jaws.
When we got out of that warm pub with its flagstone floors and roaring fireplace, we were greeted by a sharp wind. Cowering into our jackets we set off into the pastures, past the beck that tripped over stones and gurgled its way into pre-historic woodlands where ancient ash trees were sheathed in moss. Upon barbed wires of dry stone walls, fluttered clumps of fleece in the wind — the aftereffects of scabby sheep having enjoyed a real good scratch. *whispers – I have a bit of that wool tucked into my box of souvenirs. Past bee libraries (I am not on crack), which are book nests transformed into dwellings for solitary bees in ash trees, we came in view of a startling sight. Janet’s Foss. The waterfall of Janet, the fairy queen. She is said to dwell in a cave screened by a waterfall which gushes into a pool that glows the colour of magic.
Till then it was a walk, which by its very nature, is suggestive of a slow pace. It stretches your body gently, lets the mind wander as you saunter, coaxes cobwebs out and generally paves the way to a beatific state of mind. Why, it soothed Adi’s frown away.
Soon we found ourselves in the middle of a limestone amphitheatre, along with a herd of grazing sheep. The beck flowed by, a river of honey gold glinting in the soft light of the sun, for it had emerged at some point to dispel the gloom of the day. Our jaws dropped as we turned around and surveyed this sheer display of nature’s power over us, tiny humans. A limestone landscape fashioned by the relentlessness of ice and water during the last Ice Age. We turned a corner and there lay Gordale Scar, a cave system that had collapsed and gouged the cliffs to reveal a gorge, that was at once intimidating and deliciously alluring.
We mused. Should we risk a climb? This is the part where I admit that we were wearing plain old walking shoes. The boulders were slimy, and the water gushing down it did nothing to bolster our confidence. As we walked away from that gorge, I simultaneously started whinging about not doing the one thing I had set out to do: see the limestone pavement. It was up there, you see, above the cliffs.
So my darling boy decided he would take me up. Up cliffs that were fenced off. Vast stretches of the inclines were varnished with jagged, grey limestone. As a reward, at the outset, Adi’s trousers caught at a snag in the fence. They ripped *whispers — at the crotch. But this did not thwart him. Oh no. He carried on and convinced me to follow him.
‘This should be easy,’ I said to myself as we started climbing. I had bypassed Adi when he called me from behind. ‘Look at the view, Nessie,’ he said. I turned, clinging to the long grass. And I froze. ‘This is what it feels when you reach the point of no return then,’ I thought, and a strange form of gut-liquefying panic gripped me. The bed of rocks below taunted me.
I started climbing then, and boy, I did not stop except to ride out the rushes of wind that whipped the grass. Oh that wind, it did not susurrate, it keened. What would have been music to my ears in a field, threatened to make me wilt on the steep inclines. After that there was no stopping. I have never felt more like a nimble goat in my life as I did then.
At one point, I called out to Adi. There was no reply. I would not dare to look down. It was too steep for comfort. My heart beating, with the rat-a-tat of a thousand Hitchcockian birds clamouring against window panes. After a short interval, but what seemed like eternity at that point of time, I heard Adi say faintly from somewhere below, ‘I am trying to climb a boulder.’ My imagination, already ripe with horror, had a whole tableau playing out. Of us desperately waving to speck-like people below for help. Perchance, they would arrange for an air ambulance for the foolish people up there, or would they rather nod their heads in contempt, and opine, ‘Odd folks. What did they think the fence is for? Let them stay up there.’
The relief that washed over me when I spotted my husband’s head pop up. I started back on my single-minded scramble to reach the top, which looked deliciously near. A final heave – thank heavens for my loose pair of trousers – and I was up on the edge of the cliff. I lay there, eyes shut, arms unclenching from clinging on to the grass for dear life, heart beating, legs trembling like jelly, sweat gathering beneath my jacket, the tee shirt demanding a gulp of air. Even today, I cannot believe that we made it to the top. The cliffs had been fenced off for good reason. Later, much later, I read a news story about a father and daughter who were out on a hike in Scotland. They went rogue like us, climbing a fenced mountain. It was a chance loose footing, but the father never made it back.
By this point, you might ask me to bugger off, because hey, you do not want adventures of this kind, do ya? But well, some hare-brained schemes once acted upon lead to spectacular landscapes as limestone pavements, where you too can get your trousers ripped.
Before I quit gabbing, I wanted to leave a note about the other rewards for this harum-scarum deed: It lies in the winding lanes that descend sedately to reveal the surreal beauty of the British countryside, for surreal is what it is and nothing less; in a pint of chilled ale at The Buck Inn; and, in the innocent faces of a dozen calves with yellow ear tags, who come lumbering around the corner to catch a sight of loud humans with ripped trousers.
ARUNDHATI BASU 
Oh! man that was quite scary but adventurous Dippy! I guess it was worth all the effort looking at all the scenic photographs .Indeed a lovely place Malham Dales !
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It is always better to look back upon adventures than when you are in the midst of it Nisha, so I can appreciate it now wholly. xx
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Amazing photos, you’ve really captured the spirit of the place!
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Thank you Jane, it was too long a post but I cannot hold back on words! xx
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Wow, never mind the English landscape (which is sublime), look at those monsters of Yorkshire puddings! I can see why this walk has taken root in your memory!
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Hah you would know the joys of tucking into these beauties 🙂 That egg, milk, flour and water can come together in such a divine manner. xx
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My granddad used to make a beauty, in a big tray with curling corners like galleons in full sale. We used to sprinkle brown sugar over it, and then squeeze quartered oranges over that. One of the greatest memories of my childhood!
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A combination that sounds grand. I have never tried it. Next time I find myself in Blighty, I gotta try it your way. Have you ever tried to recreate it? I end up recreating food memories from childhood which also means that I am developing a nostalgic-laden repertoire.
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That’s a good idea. I might try to make it when I get to somewhere, where it’s possible. It would be great to have such a family heirloom kind of recipe book. And if you try Yorkshire pud the old fashioned way – you eat it as dessert, – but then before the main, meat and veg. course!
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The old-fashioned way sounds just about heavenly to my years. It would be my main dish! 🙂 I would love to know the results of your effort with some shots to make my tastebuds run amok and then possibly catch a flight to pud land! xx
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So beautiful and well captured Dippy!!!
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Thank you Paulo 🙂
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What a lovely post, both words and images. (Climbing is always is a difficult exercise… Always ask the locals about the right routes)
Glad to have caught up with you. Not checking my reader often enough I’m afraid.
How was the trip home at the end of year?
🙂
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Oh it was grand. Came back with bittersweet feelings, heaviness in the heart. Took a while to get back to the mode of life here. You realise how diverse the world is despite how connected it is.
Working in reverse here — thank you for the lovely words 🙂 It was just foolishness at work there. The locals had told us the roundabout way to reach atop the cliffs. That would have taken us more time. Climbing without the right gear is sheer stupidity, so we have no excuse, and off the charted paths is even worse.
Am glad to see you here. I have just about changed my blog host, so I would not have been surprised to see bloggers drop off.
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I’d missed your reply entirely. Sorry ’bout that. Glad we are connected back. 🙂
And yes… despite the “superficial” connection, the world is still very diverse.
Be good ma’amji.
😉
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Such funny images in my head after reading this! You probably needed the scramble to justify such an enormous Yorkshire pudding!
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I know, I risked it all with the torn-trouser imagery! Do not eye the pud. You have it, I do not. Have a heart.
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Aw, I detect Yorkshire pud withdrawal symptoms. You can always make them. My daughter is getting quite good at it
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Sending tickets over for your daughter! 😉 I am impressed. Okay, maybe it is time to give it a go. My withdrawal symptoms, no make that ours, are stubborn. Sigh.
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Ha ha she’d love tickets to America. She thinks every house has a pool and every town a Disney park!
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Oh gosh, we score low in her books then!
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This post is amaaaaazing!
It looks like a gorgeous (if difficult) walk and that yorkshire pud looks perfect! You had lovely looking weather for epic photos.
p.s. The bee library is SUCH a cool idea!!
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Thank you Josy 🙂 It is a special memory if only because we outlived foolishness. The pud was the perfect start to it, I think it gave us plenty of fat and carbs to work with. The bee library is rather cute, yes. I cannot imagine someone working for the cause of solitary bees, but then what do you know Gunga Din 🙂 xx
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This post was delightful. It brought such a smile to my face as I was reading about the bald man with the leather jacket and his territorial hound who had a hissy fit. The bee library is a great idea! We drive by apiaries sometimes but have never heard of a bee library (yes, the photo definitely proved that you weren’t on crack 😉 ) My loud laughter came about when reading about Adi’s unfortunate encounter with a fence. Lex has had the same experience 😛 Your photos are so lovely! I almost expect to see a Hobbit ambling around in the woodlands of Malham and the granite falls of Gordale Scar – Magical! As for the food – Yorkshire Pudding is a weakness of mine. Sigh! Much better than bacteria – Your amoebic friend – Neek
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Hahaha I love this amoebic friend and now that she professes a weakness for Yorkshire puds… she is one of a kind and I have none like her in my little black book. Plus we have spouses in common with ripped trousers in strategic locations 😛
Thank you Neek, I miss our ambles so. The scrambles not so much. But now I would take even that. Oh how you would love those woodlands. They seem charmed and you are imaginative in visualising a hobbit tripping down its ancient paths. It is a most fitting image. xx
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I think you can turn anything into an adventure if you put your mind to it 🙂
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That is a wise and well-observed thought 🙂 Hope you have been well. Hopping over to yours soon! xx
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All good here ???
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Wow it looks so amazing and cool there!!
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Thanks Amelia, you are near it by American standards 😉 xx
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It’s okay ahhh okay ? xx
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Hah 🙂
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Your storytelling never fails to amaze me – even before looking at the photos, I could imagine the landscape and all of its intricacies. And now I want to buy a train ticket and head up to Malham for a day trip asap because I am intrigued by the wonder of this place: it certainly looks and sounds like an adventure worth having, despite its nerve-wracking aspect! Xx
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Maria, Maria, how have you been? Lovely to hear from you 🙂 Thank you! It is the landscape you see that supplies you with the materials you need. I think you will love Malham, and why just Malham, the entire Yorkshire Dales is a gem. Your train ticket will be made good 🙂 There are so many good hikes there that you will be spoilt for choice. Literally (the American’s most-used word). Have a swell weekend. xx
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Well what an adventure indeed. Those views are sublime Arundhati. Xx
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Not to be repeated in a hurry 😀 Thanks lovely! xx
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What an adventure! Thrilled to read about it all. Also you’ve captured great photographs and i am loving this Yorkshire puds like crazy!
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Hi Neha, thank you. Puds are undeniable in their allure. They can have you instead of the other way around! Cheers.
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Those rocky valleys are a truly amazing sight, Dippy-Dotty Girl! Wow. I loved the contrast of Adi’s red jacket and all the gray and brown of wintry landscape there. Lots of green, like here, in the winter. Thanks!
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Thank you Theresa. Yeah Adi’s famous red jacket which he refused to let go of for an entire season. Now it has been relegated for fresh haul 😉 Oh yes, all that rain has to be accounted for! 🙂 xx
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He brings a bright color to those memories! One day would love to hear how you met! 🙂
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Oh yes, I did not do that post yet, did I? 🙂 I shall and when I do, I shall leave a note on yours about it. Thanks Theresa! xx
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🙂 lots on your plate already!
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🙂 xx
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So much to write about! 🙂
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You have such a gift for capturing place with your words (and why waste a moment on one when you can use a whole paragraph filled to brimming – go girl, I love it!) and making me itch to be there right now. To be fair I might do better not to be quite so scrambly-venturous and maybe the lure of the Yorkie Pud is the real draw but I would happily hike that trail and meet those mooks on your advice and that is the wonderful thing about trailing round behind you via your blog! Xx
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Because you would indulge me with the last thought 🙂
Thank you my lovely! I am itching to be there all over again. I hope you are having a relaxing weekend. xx
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I’m off to Bavaria for a few days …. very excited (though The Bean less so as she has gone into kennels – or Pension de Chien as they call them here!!) xx
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Aww poor baby. He must be a bit used to it by now? Though it must be heartbreaking for him. Bavaria…ahhhh! It will be stunning. Are you doing a road trip? xx
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We flew actually for reasons of time constraints. She is used to kennels in the US but this is her first time in France – she’ll be fine … treats, cuddles and food plus good walks equal a recipe for a contented Bean!!! xx
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I know her mummy will make sure that The Bean is in safe hands. Now The Bean and I share those elements for a full life, it seems 😉 xx
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Visiting via Jo’s Monday Walks. I had my heart in my mouth reading some of that! Beautiful scenery though.
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Why thank you Anabel 🙂 Mighty pleased to have you over. It was quite the day! Hope you have a lovely week ahead.
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Just popping over from Jo’s Monday Walk. A great adventure with some fab photos, Malham is a lovely place. The last time I went there, several years ago, it was a lovely sunny day in April but there was snow on top of the limestone pavement and round by the tarn.
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Snow on the pavement…that would have been quite a sight. Thank you, Eunice, for popping by and commenting 🙂 Malham remains a special memory and I want to do it all over again – reach the top by climbing Gordale Scar next time.
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It definitely looks worth the scary scramble!
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Thank you 😀 It is relieving not to be in that moment but look back upon it! xx
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