Sunday, 13 September 1925 Goredale Scar

Post:          This was a solo ride today, Tom Idle has a bad knee and is resting it, and our hero feels the need for some solace awheel, so solo it is.  Charlie mentions the couple of arches over the road at Sawley, alas they are no more, taken down by careless motorists in the past.  Goredale Scar is one of my favourite places to visit.

Sunday, September 13                          Gordale Scar and Threshfield

Tom has been troubled by a knee complaint not uncommon amongst cyclists, so he informed me that he would lay off the bike for a week and try a remedy for it.  I took the chance for a run north for a change.  As it happened, it was one of those days when one feels that one would like to be alone, to be left to one’s own thoughts for a space, and I found it very acceptable, though it did get a trifle lonely as I got on familiar roads after tea.  Though I would not care to ride alone every time, there are occasions when a quiet jaunt away from the rest of the world, brings me into closer touch with nature – and then on the next ride a companion is a boon – a companion such as Tom, I mean.  Below is an account of a lonesome run that proved to be a wonder-run in that part of the English Wonderland known as Yorkshire.

I made a rather late start – 8am – and with the intention of getting our right away, headed for that black smudge on the map known as Blackburn.  Between Bolton and Darwen, however, as one rises to an altitude of 900 ft, some fine moorland scenery can be enjoyed, but beyond that, the best one can hope for is a speedy journey, and even that is made painful by the setts.  In Blackburn I somehow missed my way, rediscovering myself some time later on Whalley New Road.  However, at the junction with Whalley Range, I turned right and after a hilly run came upon the Blackburn-Whalley road.  Then Whalley, and through the ancient village.  Halfway to Clitheroe I joined a lane route which cuts the latter town out and takes me by the foot of Pendle, through really delightful scenery to the picturesque village of Worston.  I see that where bylanes lead away from the main road about here, notices have been placed bearing the legend that:  ‘Motorists are warned that this road is narrow and tortuous’ – Great!  That will help keep them off the best roads.  The narrower and more tortuous the better!

I regained the main road again at Chatburn, then the road takes a winding course near the River Ribble to Sawley, where are a couple of arches over the road, [not any more – Ed] all that remains of the Abbey.  Sawley Brow negotiated, the scenery became good again and the road full of steep little ups and downs to Gisburn, a decent little place even if motorised, and one that calls to memory ‘Guy of Gisborne’ of the Robin Hood Ballads.  This was part of the bold outlaw’s happy hunting ground.  I turned near the Church and followed the now shallow valley of the River Ribble through Newsholme to Nappa.  On this road too, I got some wonderful views of the limestone heights that ‘grow’ east of Settle, to an altitude of over 2,000 ft.  With fine glimpses of the Ribble through sylvan woods, I reached Hellifield, the railway junction, from where I joined that lane which is full of stiff little hills to Airton, where I again turned on just as hilly a road, but more beautiful, through to Kirkby Malham, with a view of Malham Cove, looking like the face of a great white quarry, growing ever nearer.  Reaching the rather picturesque Craven village of Malham, I discovered a topping lunch place.

I started again beneath a glaring sun on a little uphill lane, climbing spasmodically, then dropping down again in a sheer descent to Gordale Beck, here but a large stream issuing from a deep, barren dale to the left.  I put my bike in a shed without asking, then set out on foot for the said dale.  As one approaches, nothing striking is seen about it except, perhaps, the broken, rocky slopes and crags of limestone on each side, but farther in it seems to get more sheer and enclosed, until turning a corner, I found myself suddenly in a terrific gorge.

It was narrow, with great overhanging precipices on each side, bulging outwards towards each other.  The height of the rocks, the bulge and the roar of water made this an awe-inspiring sight, and when I turned the next bend, I found a waterfall pouring over a precipice which seemed to enclose the chasm, then yet another waterfall higher up which shot through an arch and jumped over a cliff, falling then like a mill race, down a steep smooth slab, to the next cascade.  I was amazed – I expected nothing like this, and stood staring at the wonderful sight before me.  With a bit of trouble, I managed to climb up past the lower fall, and by negotiating the leaping water, got to a position below the upper fall, where I could observe the arch of rock, the river-made leap over it, and the enclosing masses of rock – one of the effects of that great geological fault which we know as Gordale Scar.

I stayed a while, wandering about, and taking it all in, then leaving the falls, I walked slowly down the dale.  I was surprised to find that I had to cross a rapidly flowing river when I knew that I was clear of the Aire, so I turned about and walked up a few yards, where I found that the water was boiling up out of the ground.  Somewhere on the moors above, the water is ‘swallowed’ and passes beneath the ground, coming to daylight here in Gordale Scar.  The force of the descending water forces it up out of the earth.  It is a strange sight to see a stream, rather deep and two feet wide, suddenly bubble up out of the ground, but it is very common on these limestone moors, both in Yorkshire and Derbyshire.  The action of these subterranean rivers has formed the wonderful caverns such as the Blue John Mine, Speedwell Cavern and Peak Cavern in Derbyshire, and the much grander Alum Pot Hole, Ingleborough Cave and Hartle Pot etc, in Yorkshire.  On my return to my machine I came across two more large streams issuing from the earth, and I tasted the water, but beyond the delicious coldness, could find nothing different with the water from any clear stream.  So, delighted with this little detour, I reached my machine again, and walked slowly uphill on that wide track, Hawthorns Lane, which at the top connects with Mastiles Lane, which leads across the moors to Kilnsey, in Upper Wharfedale.

It was a climb too, winding upwards with increasingly beautiful views behind, until at an altitude of 1,191 ft, I was in a wild region of swelling moorland ridges, broken with little white crags of limestone outcrop; in the distance – all around me the hazy, sweeping heights stretched.  My intention was to cross to Kilnsey, the ride down the east side of the River Wharfe from Conistone to Grassington, crossing the river again to Threshfield, but I must have gone wrong, and in ignorance crossed Malham Moor, descending furiously  towards broad Wharfedale, which hazily stretched before me.  A gentleman and his wife and youngster stopped me, asking the way to Clapham.  They were going to walk it all that day, but when I showed them the distance on my map, they changed their minds.  (It would have been about 20 miles for them over the hills).  They were very nice people, with whom a talk about the district and exchange of opinion was a pleasure.  As I left them I made the alarming discovery that I had lost the clip on my Renold chain.  It was lucky that I saw it then, for the link was just coming off – and I should have been absolutely stranded.  I tied some string on as a temporary measure, and when I reached Wharfedale – finding myself at Threshfield – I changed over to freewheel as an added precaution.  From there I followed many winding and hilly lanes, by Cracoe, Hetton and Flasby, through delightful hills and woodland scenery to Gargrave, where I procured a new clip for my chain, then soon reached the main Skipton road at Broughton.

Bk 7 -31033

This is a beautiful, if hilly road but badly motorised, and it therefore seemed a long way back to Gisburn, where I was able to shake myself free of the petrol, turning on the Nelson road, but leaving it again in favour of a little bylane which dropped downhill to Rimington, then undulated beneath the shadow of Pendle Hill, bringing me to the pretty village of Downham.  All the tea places were full up with motorists, so I carried on to Chatburn, then Clitheroe, with tea at the Craven Heifer.

As I started again I got a puncture, but it was soon right again, and I made great progress home via Whalley and Tockholes for 9pm.  I must get Tom into this district soon!                                                   122 miles

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>