Bolton Abbey, Yorkshire

Well it didn’t look all that promising this morning. It was grey and overcast but warm, so ideal really for a walk. My brother had decided to head off to the Yorkshire Dales, a beautiful part of the county made famous by television programmes like All Creatures Great and Small and Last of the Summer Wine. It was a fairly long drive from York, passing briefly through the spar town of Harrogate.

Eventually the unremarkable countryside morphed into the impressive Dales, full of dry stone walls and faintly ominous moor land peaks. We stopped briefly at Fewston Reservoir, unable to resist the lure of Blubberhouses car park – where did they get that name from? We walk a short way along to admire the view and take a few pictures, before heading back to the car. It would make a nice walk, but we are after a more natural experience, plus it would be a six hour walk all the way round.

We stopped briefly ... unable to resist the lure of Blubberhouses car park – where did they get that name from?

We head on further and the landscape gets wilder and quite a bit hillier. Eventually we find the right turning and arrive at our intended target – Bolton Abbey. We follow the signs that direct us up the road and “through the hole in the wall”. It is quite literally that, not a door or gateway, just a hole which reveals the most beautiful river valley below us. Just off to the left are the impressive ruins and a very impressive private building.

It doesn’t take long to explore the ruins but I’m fascinated by the graves in the accompanying churchyard. The majority appear to be constructed like low tables or benches, with the headstones lying flat supported on four legs. I look closer to see whether some of the stones from the monuments are simply missing, but no this is how they were built to look. I know in some countries relatives visit the graves of their ancestors and use the monuments like picnic tables, but I really have never heard of anyone doing this in England before. I must try to find out more about them.

After visiting the Abbey we walked down to the river where we were presented with two different methods of crossing it. My brother took the simpler option of using the bridge; I decided to follow the original route – over a set of about 30 very small stepping stones. “Not a problem” I thought “the water looks nice and shallow, I wonder why they bothered?”

I should perhaps point out at this point that I was well strapped into a heavy backpack and had binoculars and a camera in my hands. But this didn’t phase me … at least not until I was half way across. Certainly the water on one side of the river was very shallow. But it got a lot deeper as I reached the middle. It’s also quite hard work walking across stones that are just a bit too far apart for my short legs. Add to that the odd wobbly stone and you have a frisson of excitement bordering on fear! By the time I reached the other side my legs were aching with the effort. I look up expectantly at my sibling and ask whether he managed to get a photo of me only to be told “actually I’ve been waiting for you to get out the way so I can take a picture. You can do it again if you like” [several months later I discovered he had actually recorded the moment for prosperity].

We carry on walking, first across a field and then up into the trees that follow the river edge. Along the way we get wonderful views out from the trees onto the river, making the uphill climb worthwhile. At one point we come across a strange fallen tree trunk and I can’t work out what it is from the strange bark. When we take a closer look we discover the surface is covered in 2p coins, forced into the wood and bent out of shape. We assume it is a work of art (there is a sculpture trail later on) but later we come across a similar thing – it just seems to be something that one person has started and everyone else is copying. I suppose it’s a bit like throwing coins into any kind of fountain.

The footpath meanders on through the woods much like the river must, although we can’t actually see it. We do come across small streams that run down towards it. One is quite large and you have the choice of crossing a road, then a bridge, then the road again, or simply following the road through a very shallow ford. Again I take the more authentic route – but then my brother doesn’t have his walking boots on today.

Eventually we find our way back out into an open field beside the river and discover that the sun has now burnt off all the mist and haze of the morning. It’s now baking hot and I just hope we’ll find some more cover soon. In fact my brother’s done well picking this walk, most of the route is through cool shady woodland and it keeps the ever increasing heat of the day away.

Personally I’m quite happy with the beautiful scenery we are passing through, but if you felt it needs more, there are some very good (and not so good) sculptures to look at. The first one we come to is a female centaur woven from willow. She’s rather lovely and stands half hidden amongst the trees. As we continue, we meet a couple who are desperately trying to find the next – a heron made from metal. In fact he’s quite a way along the track and I have a feeling this is going to be a slightly longer walk than I had originally intended.

The path winds its way along the towering river banks, affording us excellent views down to the copper coloured river below. It varies tremendously. Sometimes it moves slowly like liquid metal, other times there are rocks and boulders to contend with, whisking the water into a froth that boils over them.

Eventually we make it to the last sculpture on this side of the river. It follows a hefty climb, so I take the opportunity to take a good look at it. There’s a rope strung across a very attractive view of the river below. Hanging from it are five metal bats. There are also two more hidden inside the nearby stone shelter, where we take a short break. As we sit there a family of nuthatches (a woodland bird) appear and start jumping about in the trees around us. Someone has been up here fairly recently and left some bird seed around and they take full advantage. We also see a coal tit and I pester my brother to take a photo of them (he has the best camera). This takes a while as they don’t seem to want to cooperate.

A little later as we head back down to the river, I spot an unusual bird popping out of a nest box. I can’t call my brother back so he disappears ahead of me, but the wait was worthwhile as I’ve never seen a pied flycatcher before. I watch him flit back into the nest and hear the hungry cries of his tiny chicks within. He attracts quite an audience, but stops to sit a few feet away from me in a tree, before continuing his search for food.

During this walk we have been totally captivated by the view of the river down to our left, giving very little thought to anything else. However just up ahead we are reminded that sometimes you need to look around you. We get an excellent view of the surrounding hills, over a rather high dry stone wall. My brother cruelly jokes that I’ve had to include the wall in my picture because I can’t reach. In fact I wanted to include it because it made a more interesting image – tall people can be so mean sometimes!

We briefly find our way back out into the sun baked fields where we cross an extraordinary bridge. It’s a really lavishly decorated affair, made of beautifully finished stone, complete with turrets. However when we cross it it’s no more than a simple footbridge. Perhaps it’s a folly designed for looks more than practicality. That being said it does allow us to start our return journey, taking a short detour up through dark woods swathed in pungent wild garlic, to the Strid Visitor Centre. Unfortunately we are disappointed to discover that they only sell a few snacks and drinks – we had really wanted lunch.

Luckily the walk back is fairly straightforward. There are many more sculptures to see and the road is generally straight and flat. We do take one detour down to the Strid where the river is funnelled through a tight gap in the rocks. Here it has carved out unusual shapes as it grinds away at the rocks. All around us are warning signs telling us to be cautious as people have died here. I can well see why, if it was wet or the river swollen, it would be extremely hazardous. Luckily for us our visit is uneventful and we both make it out in one piece.

We eventually reach the Cavendish Pavilion, which means we can finally get something to eat. It’s not particularly cheap, but to my surprise my salmon and cucumber roll has never seen the inside of a tin – it’s the real thing and tastes fantastic. So does the really creamy rhubarb cheesecake that I shall be trying out at home soon.

Sadly we haven’t quite made it back, so we carry on following the river. Unfortunately this means walking through a very large, if attractive, car park. People can park right up to the river bank, so they barely have to move for their picnic. Still at least the weather is good; they don’t actually have to eat it in the car. A few hardy souls have gone for a dip in the water, but I think the two children we pass sum it up best. “I’m never, ever, ever going in a river ever again!”

Back across the final field we head up towards the road. My brother reckons there’s a fountain we should take a look at. He’s quite right. Here on the top of the hill beside the road is a rather grandly carved fountain. There’s no logic as to why – there’s no building or gardens to look at. There’s just a field full of sheep of sheep.

I’m absolutely shattered by the time we reach the car and I’m ashamed to say that I couldn’t keep my eyes open during the journey back to our cottage. Lucky my brother could remember the way because I wasn’t much help navigating!

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Some months after my visit I found a report in a national newspaper about a mother and daughter who nearly drowned crossing the stepping stones at Bolton Abbey.  It was a pleasant day and the water was fine as they began to cross them.  Suddenly a tidal wave of water swept down through the valley, knocking them off the stones and into the water.  Although they managed to keep their footing, the water was too strong for them to wade out or for rescuers to reach them.  In the end the Fire Brigade had to haul them out of the water at the nearby bridge.

The very serious lesson here is that although the river may look calm and benign, it can change very quickly without any warning.  In this case heavy rain a few days earlier had taken some time to make its way down the river system from the surrounding Yorkshire Dales.  I'm not sure I would have been quite so brave had I known how risky it could have been.