Grassington to Oughtershaw

On the morning of the second day we were all rather surprised that we didn’t ache quite as much as we thought we would. At one point I was even able to bend my leg, which was a bonus.

There were a few members of our group that were unable to start on the Wednesday with us due to various other commitments, but by Thursday afternoon we were up to our full compliment. The arrival of Jez, Lee and Sandip really provided a boost to the group. Eleven men all devoting ninety percent of their brainpower to come up with obscene double entendres is a powerful force indeed.

The first half of the day was spent walking over the limestone hills between Grassington and Kettlewell. Many of the group have said that this was their favourite stretch of the walk but it was a little bleak for my tastes. Plus there were a couple of hills. I am of the opinion that hills are a Very Bad Thing.

After lunch and a pint in Kettlewell we were off again, rejoining the river Wharfe that we had left at the end of day one. We had once more split up into two groups: fast and slow. Of course my natural athleticism would normally earmark me for the fast group; but I felt sorry for the others and so decided to selflessly hang back and pretend that I was some sort of unfit panting oaf to make them feel better about themselves.

You will notice that nearly all my photos are of people walking away from me. Any accusations that this is because I was always at the back will meet with swift legal action

At one point we passed an elderly couple in their mid sixties who were out for a day’s walking. After exchanging pleasantries we joked that we would see them again when they passed us. “Oh no” they said “We go so slow that we’ve never ever passed anyone”.

They passed us twice. Oh the shame.

Rich looks all noble

We caught our first glimpse of Kerry, our sherpa, in a village called Buckden where we had stopped for ice creams (a can of diet coke: 60p. Very reasonable). She was in the process of driving both Sandip and our bags to our accommodation and had stopped to buy milk. Sandip took the opportunity walk the rest of the way with us, and Kerry went on to dump our gear and make sure the bunkbarn was ready for us.

We caught one more glimpse of Kerry that day from opposite sides of the river. In a brief shouted conversation she told us that we only had four miles left to do. I think there must be something wrong with the odometer on our car, as that last four miles seemed more like about twenty.

The last few miles really took their toll, and it was a pretty miserable group of men that dragged their way up the steps to Swarthghyll Farm Bunkhouse. Still, we were all cheered to see that Dave and Lee were in the midst of preparing a mighty dinner of spaghetti bolognaise for us. Good men!

The evening was spent drinking beer and playing Oli’s name game. A game it appears I am incapable of playing without going into some sort of sulk. I am not a man designed to spend 24 hours a day in other’s company, and the combination of fatigue and compulsory sociability led me to be a little grumpy on a couple of the evenings. I mention it here only in order to hold my hands up to being a bit of a pillock at times, and in no way should you infer that there were any serious or lasting fallings out during the trip. On the whole everone got on very well, and I’d gladly do something similar with any one of them in the future (although not just yet please, I need to let my blisters heal).

So that was the end of the second day. During the planning stage I had assumed it was going to be the hardest one. I hadn’t however counted on the effect that the hills of day three would have on my already weary bones.

Vital Statistics

Time set off: 9:45am
Time arrived: 7:00pm
Rough distance travelled: about 17/18 miles
Number of sheep shagging jokes: 86

You can find more photo’s of the day here, and you can still see the video footage of the second day over at the ITV local site. Neil has also kindly uploaded some of the day two footage to youtube:

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