A 'Gentle' Walk : High Trenhouse, 2006

At times, on this 'Gentle' walk, thoughts of Captain Scott's ill-fated Polar Expedition came, uninvited, to mind. Truth to tell, they soon went. The walking day held for us a collection of great experiences, such as sight, sound and changing temperatures.

The first stop, at the bird hide by Malham Tarn, was, we're ashamed to say, not quite as controlled as a Year 10 Field Studies trip. We began very quiet and respectful, with several pairs of impressive binoculars trained on a baby Coot and its mother, feeding, and the delightful sight of a Great Crested Grebe drifting nearby. Janet, in particular, seemed to have impressive bird knowledge. However, things soon deteriorated into a series of hilarious, if softly whispered, comments such as, 'What's that?' Answer: 'A rare red-crested Giblet' and the suggestion that the small, wooden platform in front of the hide was a landing-point for the mythical 'Isle of Coot Ferry'. Jane was especially sure that she had become the conduit-point for all things ornithological, as, seated in the centre of the bench, she had become the channel for questions from opposite ends of the hide; a sort of 'Malham Tarn Google search engine'.

From our next vantage point, a National Trust viewing platform onto which we'd clambered to take refuge from a giant bin-lorry coming down the lane from the Field Studies Centre, Fran learnt about the mysterious 'White-Clawed Crayfish' and 'The Fibrous Tussock Sedge' to be found over in Tarn Moss. However, their finer zoological and botanical points eluded her and she feels she has yet to gain skills good enough to identify them. The view was reminiscent of the Lakes, picturesque, but slightly 'brooding'. When our group managed to tear itself away from contemplation of the latter, as well as packing in botanical knowledge of Tarn Moss, i.e. Spaghnum moss, Round-leaved Sundew and Bog Rosemary, to name but a few, we enjoyed the stroll up the road to the Field Centre, sampling wild raspberries and strawberries in dappled sunlight and shade from the woods around.

After Anna and Carolyn rejoined us from their toilet break at the Centre (suspiciously long - had they slipped away?), our leader for the walk, Diana, led us away along the woodland path and uphill. Confidently we strode on, our figures toiling up the incline, commenting on flora, fauna and fungi spotted. 'Are these 'nippled toadies?' (toadstools to you or I), 'is this Bird's Foot Trefoil?' , a conversation about 'mountain run-offs' (sounds very geological!) and a question about 'creeping thyme' that suggested something threatening followed. At this point, Fran spotted a small private plane overhead - could this be a 'search and rescue' coming to whisk her away to the warmth of the jacuzzi at High Trenhouse? Sadly, no.

The view from the top of the hill, however, was stunning; the wind whipping the waters of the Tarn below and the cloud-shadows sweeping over the fields. Diana found the most beautiful, delicate little yellow, wild viola, clinging to the side of the hill, so easy to overlook and so satisfying for Diana to have spotted. That definitely called for a photo shoot. Also worth mentioning was the group photograph by a rocky outcrop on the top of the hill, more like a kind of 'rogue's gallery', really. We all got on with the task of looking for field mushrooms, egged on by Diana, something begun on the previous day's walk. So far, we can report with relief, no-one had collapsed into their soup at supper, so our leader's 'fungi knowledge' must be 'tip-top'. Terry's comment, however, on the size of the mushroom Fran had found was a little cutting : 'poor little thing, Fran, it doesn't look old enough to be away from home'.

Our first break - greeted, as usual, with 'Is this lunch, Diana?' - was superb! We sat on the side of a hill, overlooking a sheep-farm that wouldn't have been out of place in a James Herriot film, and were entertained over our food, watching the sheep below being penned. What we couldn't see was what was actually happening to the sheep. The discussion amongst the Gentle Walk's 'panel of agricultural experts' ranged between 'sheep-shearing', 'sheep-dipping' and 'foot inspection'. Who knows? We certainly had immense delight arguing the toss. A 4 by 4 left the farm just before we did - could this be the farmer's wife off to the pub or was she taking a prize ewe to market? In the far distance were deep purple hills and above us, cumulus cloud formations in a vast Yorkshire sky. The warm feel of sun on cheek and face was amazing.

Leaving the multitude of sheep feeding below us, like so much dandruff on a green baize cloth, our replenished group wended its way uphill again and into the next field, to be confronted by a small 'nurture' herd of cows. Janet's question as to what the young bullocks were up to invited the most basic of answers. Fran decided to hug the line of the boundary wall, having spotted the ominous body-size of the herd's bull. Terry, on the other hand, when she saw a beautiful heifer with herd tags in her ears, quipped, 'Lovely earrings', seemingly unphased by the bull in the herd behind! Meanwhile, Jane, oblivious of all but choir, organ and the majesty of Vaughan Williams' music for 'Job' in her ears, strode on ahead, blissfully unaware of the raggle-taggle of concerned walkers trailing some distance behind her! Even Diana's shouts failed to tear Jane away from such musical delights.

Then …… the rain came and we hastily put on our waterproof trousers. Fran gave her usual impression of a beetle on its back, with its legs waggling in the air. Even 'Sherpa Carolyn', her long-suffering sister, could not improve the startling scene unfolding. Trousers finally on, including those on Fran, waterproofs and hats on too, the intrepid party resumed its plodding way in the now driving rain. More sights of majestic clouds sweeping through the sky, reflecting dark 'battleship' shapes on the sunlit field grasses of the valley below.

We all trekked on downhill, following Diana without question. As Terry so accurately observed, 'We're so imprinted on you, Diana, we'd follow you like little ducklings following their mother through shark-infested waters!' Back down the hill we went, through now familiar, heather-patched fields, studded with clear blue harebells and grasses tangled with sheep wool here and there. We passed through a natural 'amphitheatre' of jagged limestone outcrops, jutting out from the soil like so many dinosaur vertebrae. At one point, the group reached a sort of 'plateau' of much-worn limestone pavement, the flat pieces of stone stacked like so many club sandwiches. It was at this point that a form of 'group hysteria' set in, prompted by the numerous geological stone platforms that, encouraged by Anna, just invited song and performance. Each member of the party found a stack to perch on, cross-legged, whilst Diana took a group photo of us 'garden gnomes', with walking poles held aloft in imitation of fishing rods. What a sight for sore eyes! Even a rendition, painful to the ear no doubt, of 'The Hills Are Alive With The Sound Of Music' (wailing?) failed to halt our guide in her tracks and we had no choice but to resume our journey.

Lunch was eventually taken in a grassy, rock-strewn enclosure. Diana disappeared to try and find her bearings, as part of what was indicated by the map had 'disappeared'. We had to admit that, while she was absent from our group eating its lunch, we felt like wagon-train pioneers, abandoned by their Sioux scout on the Oregon trail. Would she return? Would she return or would we become mere carrion for any passing Hen-Harrier? The 'veggies' amongst us seemed very smug, declaring that, if we were abandoned for weeks on end without food, they would never turn cannibal! Diana, however, did return, surprisingly with the story that she had seen a fox. Some of us were a wee bit sceptical at first, but were finally convinced by her sincere description of moorland wildlife. We even urged her to have her own lunch, though we had to confess it wasn't really induced by kind, caring, altruistic feelings - we needed her ALIVE to lead us safely home! We packed up our gear and continued on our collective way.

And safely home we were led, despite a returning downpour. The column of weary walkers straggled, snake-like, on the wooden walkway through Tarn Moss. Diana, the perfect guide, the perfect naturalist, even found time and energy to identify a carnivorous Sundew for Fran. Trying not to imagine being eaten alive by plants in the wetland below, the group watched as our intrepid guide held a Peacock butterfly on her palm, without squashing it and even managed to photograph it before it flew away. The only question occupying Fran's mind as she, uncharacteristically, 'led from the front' in the rain, up the final hill to High Trenhouse, was - how many of us would pass the real 'Sound Of Music' audition? Christopher Plummer II look out! …………………………….

Postscript : (In the style of the old GCE maths questions)
If there are 11 people on a 'Walking Women' trek and 3 of them, wearing tight waterproof trousers, want to pee, and 5 of them decide to go off the track without their leader's permission, and it takes 10 minutes to retrieve each one, how long does it take, bearing in mind 1 person out of the 3 weeing is spotted by a man on a horse on the other side of the field wall, and it takes 15 minutes for her to pull up her pants, long johns, inner good-wicking leggings and Rohan water-shedding trousers and she has to tuck them around her lacy camisole, good-wicking stretch top from M & S, inner sweater from Millets and outer sweater from The Northern Face, how long does it take for 1 Intermediate Walk leader called 'Marcelle' and 1 Gentle Walk leader called 'Diana' to go quietly …… ever so quietly …….. bonkers? ……………………………

• A very big 'thank-you' to you, Diana, for making Carolyn and I so happy with our first 'Walking Women' holiday. We didn't want to return home. We were disappointed in nothing. Well done you!

Fran Maciver August 2006
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