Malham – A Little Gem in Limestone Country

Cover picture: downstream from Janet’s Fosse

“Surely not, Jane? You don’t mean we actually climbed that waterfall?”

“Mmm…p’haps we found a way round at the side…”

It took a while to get a signal on our phones to check the route, but we finally confirmed that, back in 1972, we had clambered up Gordale Scar, rucksacks and all. It must have been in fine weather, and our bodies must have been much more lithe and well-tuned than now.

The internet says it’s for experienced climbers (so how come we did it?). It certainly was not suitable for a wet week when Gordale Beck was in spate, cascading across the full width of the falls. And even more certainly, not for a 74-year-old codger limping with the aid of a walking stick ‘cos of a gammy hip. But this didn’t stop us admiring the falls, appreciating the raw energy of the torrent above.

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Jane, our daughter Helen and her little Yorkie, Tank, had been lucky enough to book a 4-day September break in Malham, right in the heart of the Yorkshire Dales. We stayed in a very comfy cottage attached to the (highly recommended) Old Barn Tearoom in the village centre. We were not lucky with the weather, although – bearing in mind the waterfalls – perhaps we were; we certainly saw Gordale and the magical Janet’s Fosse at their most spectacular. The countryside, drought-stricken until the end of August, appeared lush and verdant.

For a bit of variety, we spent a half day in Hawes in Wensleydale, where I walked Tank across the meadows whilst the ladies visited a craft fayre and then the famous creamery, now with a teaming gift shop and café. The journey between Wensleydale and Airedale, via Widdale and Ribblesdale, is a delight in itself. Steering the car between stone walls demands your utmost concentration, a total contrast to the ‘Get-you-from-A-to-B-ASAP’ driving that characterises most modern motoring. [I shall HATE IT when, as will inevitably happen, all cars become driverless].

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No visit to Malham would be complete without taking the short walk from the village to the famous Cove. Once again, we enjoyed the sweetly flowing stream, the drama of the cliffs (being scaled by intrepid climbers), the pools formed between the roots of brave trees that cling to the rocks beside the beck.

We enjoyed the village itself, with its quaint houses, its café, two pubs, a very informative National Park Centre, and – had we wished – a chapel with a pretty garden that was open for personal reflection. It also hosts a Youth Hostel and is served by buses to Skipton and beyond.

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I love this countryside because it reflects an era when man lived in closer partnership with nature. The stone walls follow the contours of the hillside. Streams haven’t been diverted for mankind’s convenience. On our walk along Gordale Beck, we watched a shepherd and his dog skilfully herding a large flock of sheep, some of which had taken a diversion and had to be persuaded to jump across the fast-flowing water.

 I mustn’t be naïve and hark back to the ‘good old days’ that were so hard for the general population. Our relative comfort in retirement was earned by my working in the chemical industry. But I believe it’s time for humankind to return to a godly perspective in which we see ourselves as stewards of nature; it’s for us to enjoy, appreciate and to use sympathetically, but not to exploit.