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Published: October 11th 2023
I have been having an online conversation with a fellow travelblogger on our mutual extensive trips to South Africa. The subject of Cape Agulhas cropped up - the southern most tip of Africa. It was unfortunately a destination we didn't quite fit into the plan, but one I very much wish we had. I am instinctively drawn to the geographical extremes or oddities, even if technically there is not a great deal to see on arrival. Cape Reinga and Slope Point in New Zealand spring to mind, as does Cape Leeuwin in Western Australia. Malin Head in Ireland - the most northerly point of the Republic (or southern Ireland) and more north than Northern Ireland. Who could forget Four Corners in the US - the point where the states of Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado and Nevada meet? All of which brings me to the focus of this trip - the Tan Hill Inn. At 1732 feet (or 528 metres, if you prefer) above sea level, Tan Hill is the highest pub in Britain.
The pub is situated high above Swaledale in the Yorkshire Dales surrounded by miles of what Yorkshire folk might call "nowt". A bleak moorland of heather is
all that can seen from the high vantage point, apart from the outline of tiny vehicles snaking their way across A66 trans Pennine route in the far distance. The minor roads that approach the pub itself are not for the faint hearted, unconfident driver and certainly not in the advent of any bad weather. The pub has it's own tractor to act as a snow plough parked out front, along with a snow mobile. They aren't just for show. It is unlikely you are going to see the local Council gritter clearing the road for you, after significant snowfall. The name Tan Hill apparently derives from the words "Tan Heal" or "Hill of Fire" .... the ancient Celts were prone to a bit of fire starting in these parts, as fractured in their rituals and traditions. When William the Conqueror arrived on these shores and sent his surveyors out to check exactly what he had invaded, they noted one word to describe Tan Hill - "wasteland". William's men probably had a point, as this would be before the advent of mining in the area that would prove to be the mainstay of the trade for the pub for a few
centuries.
Our little adventure had been somewhat unplanned and impromptu. We have had an onslaught of recent appointments for the Other Half in hospital land and up until the Tuesday, I had a face full of stitches. A non fatal form of skin cancer growth and I have become well acquainted over the last few years and experience has taught me not to make too many plans until the coast, so to speak, is completely clear, there is no infection and the stitches removed. Alas, the timing of this current episode couldn't have been worse and a small dog would have have to miss out on leading the Canine Crew at the big Seaside "derby" up at Whitby later in the day. We mulled over a few possible destinations for a mini break. Hadrian's Wall and a bit of Tyne Valley was the hot initial favourite. We have both been to the Wall many times over the years, but neither bizarrely had seen the famous tree at the Sycamore Gap. I booked a cottage for a couple of nights, but the owners decided to decline the booking as clearly there wasn't enough profit in it for them once they
had engaged their cleaning people. It begged the question of why continue to advertise it for a possible 2 night break with a discount no less, when it looked like they had no intention of letting it? Timewasters. So the potential accommodation bit the dust and on a more disturbing note, so did the said Sycamore tree a few hours later. An iconic tree, the scene of many a classic photo and featured in a Robin Hood film, felled by a chainsaw by persons unknown in an act of vandalism. The Sycamore Gap plan was permanently cancelled.
I had ironically checked The Tan Hill Inn website a few weeks back, whilst perusing dog friendly destinations for the future and there was no room at Inn. I re-checked for availability for this current trip and it revealed one free room - a likely cancellation, as much doom and gloom had been spread earlier in the week with imminent arrival of Storm Agnes. The weather forecast looked suspect for the Wednesday, but the track of the storm looked like it would have cleared by 7 am on the Thursday. I pressed the button to complete the booking and the plan was
hatched. We headed north on a strangely quiet M1. The post COVID world seems to throw up days, when nobody bothers to go near an office and others, when everyone goes or is instructed to make an appearance with resultant traffic chaos. It was a steady drive, before the decision was made to have a pit stop just off the A1 in Bedale. Bedale is your archetypical North Yorkshire market town. A wide, elongated market place stretches down from St Gregory's Church. The town received a Royal charter for a market in 1251 and arguably hasn't looked back since. Fine, elegant Georgian buildings flanked the market area, highlighting the golden years of the town. There is still an air of prosperity, as you would expect from an electorate in the current Prime Minister's constituency. We had a wander, a walk round the local auction house where goods were on display for this Friday's sale and a highly commended bacon sandwich and latte in a local, independent eatery by the name of Institution. It was good to see the usual chain coffee outlets were largely absent from the landscape. Costa was the exception, but we boycott them anyway as Vera and
her other canine pals are usually not welcome.
The passing of Storm Agnes was good for the next part of the plan .... chasing waterfalls. Waterfalls (and other water dependent geographical features) can be pretty impressive, but also infuriatingly disappointing. It is of course is all down to recent weather conditions and obviously weather on the day, to give any relevant visibility to see what you came to see. Over the years, I reckon we have pretty much got the balance of the variables right - Niagara, Victoria, Tugela etc - but I had high hopes of conditions today. The Cauldron in the enormously attractive village of West Burton was running well and we enjoyed our lunch snack on a bench overlooking the village green. The Other Half had astonishingly never been to Aysgarth. I thought everybody in our school had been on one of those end of term trips over there. Apparently not! After all those years missing out on the spectacle of the 3 cascades, she would not be disappointed. The Aysgarth Falls experience can be a victim of it's own success. The Upper, Middle and Lower Falls can draw the crowds and the constraints of parking
opportunities in a small village can be challenging. The Victorians had it sussed and visitors were transported up Wensleydale in their hordes by train. The line opened in 1877. The commercial train network has long since withdrawn from such routes, but a heritage line is now restored and operational in peak season and on key weekends. Rishi was actually due to make his much heralded announcement on the future of HS2 north of Birmingham in the coming week and it was likely to be scrapped in favour of other infrastructure upgrades across "the North". Perhaps his new idea for the promised "levelling up" will be to re-open the line up Wensleydale? I love the vagueness of the term "the North". He clearly doesn't subscribe to my my theory of the North / South boundary being at the site of the roundabout on the old A1. It turned out North Wales was included in his new post HS2 investment plan, although much criticism followed that the detail was on the back of a fag packet somewhere.
There was no pressure on the parking situation today and the "official" car park was fortunately only 20% occupied. We walked to the Higher
Hawes
Wensleydale Creamery Falls nearest the village, which attracts the majority of the visitor numbers. The track was substantially less muddy than on my previous visit, although you do have to seriously question the choice of footwear of some visitors. White trainers, I ask you? The numbers had dwindled on reaching Lower Falls. There was just ome other couple. The lure of a cup of tea in the nearby cafe had overcome the desire to walk a couple of hundred metres. We drove up Wensleydale, following the River Ure and stopping at the small village of Bainbridge. The village has the distinctive feature of an Archimedes Screw hydroelectricity system harness the power of the water in the River Bain - I say power, even though it is one of the shortest named rivers in England.
We reached the main centre at the head of the 'Dale - Hawes. The population is less than 1000, but in these parts, the town feels like the big city. The main street was alive with tourists and locals alike. The local auction mart was on - the annual sale of Blue Faced Leicester Sheep to be precise - and lots of 4WD vehicles and their trailers
Tan Hill Inn
Full English Breakfast were crammed into the parking areas around the auction site. I have just read the mart report and it seems that the 599 animals in the sale generated good interest. After a visit to our distant relations in 2007 who had a smallholding in Tasmania, I was kind of familiar with the sort of prices paid for top rams. However, the sale prices in Hawes were on a different scale. Lot 267 was sold for £35,000 no less. Yes, that is not a misprint - £35,000!!
A fortuitous car parking appeared, as we approached the centre. The dog friendly cafe had no available space within, so we perched on the outdoor tables. The early afternoon promise of warm sunshine in Aysgarth had receded,nas a few stray black clouds floated across on a chilly breeze. The visitors were a mix. Bikers - drawn to the narrow, winding roads in these parts - sported their day out leathers. The walking set ranged from the professionals on a route march challenge to the casual in their goretex footwear, fresh from the box. The retail side of Hawes seemed to be thriving. COVID and the subsequent lockdowns have sent many in search of
the great outdoors and Yorkshire away from the larger industrial conurbations, provides the outdoors a plenty. There were plenty of purchases aimed at the visitors, but also stuff locals need. Where else does a Spar sell pony carrots? We have a collection of old chimney pots in the garden, one of which ironically came from Hawes about 30 years ago. It was a random purchase, whilst driving on a random route back to base from a business meeting in Lancashire - there are only so many times you could cope with the old A66 before large sections were made dual carriageway. Three decades on - the Other Half spied another Hawes chimney pot, that she wished to add to the collection. There were 2 problems - the available room in the car .... amazing how much room a small dog and it's possessions can take up and more fundamental, the retail outlet was unexpectedly closed. I can see a mission in the near future to make that purchase - the beauty of retirement. We perused a couple of pieces of vintage Robert Thompson "Mouseman" furniture in the window of the said place too .... always superb quality and oak remains
timeless. The local "graffiti" knitters had been busy decorating the street with their work. Wallace & Gromit were in situ outside the pub ....... and very impressive they were too.
The main employer in Hawes is the Wensleydale Creamery. I always feel an enormous affiliation to them, after their sponsorship of the local Football League. The world was in meltdown, COVID had shutdown most higher level "live" football, but the Wensleydale Creamery Football League was back in business as soon as practical and provided a lifeline for those of us who can see beyond Sky Sports and the money grabbing superstars of Premier League. The League hit the headlines years ago when Peter Crouch filmed an advert for Mars, playing for Caperby Rovers and had a second coming, when there was literally no other "live" games to watch. Think of the Saudi Pro League with limited facilities, less sunshine and a lot more endeavour. You never know, if someone stumps up the money Neymar could well turn up in a field in Wensleydale or Swaledale watched by a lot of sheep ..... and they could turn out to be Blue Faced Leicesters' worth a bob or two (and certainly
more than him at that point). Alas, it won't be the Creamery. Their sponsorship deal has ended. The Scotts Storage Wensleydale Football League doesn't quite have the same ring to it, but I am sure they provide some great storage facilities in Leyburn. I digress.
We moved the car up to Creamery towards the "suburb" - I use the word loosely - of Gayle. The original Wensleydale Creamery opened in 1897 and manufactured traditional local cheeses. After a couple of changes in ownership, it was subsequently bought out by the Milk Marketing Board in 1966. It's subsidiary, Dairy Crest, then made the decision to close the Hawes operations in 1992 and move production of traditional Yorkshire Wensleydale Cheese to Lancashire!! Yorkshire folk would say, "nowt as daft as folk" ..... in this case, "nowt as daft" as people in Dairy Crest management circles. 59 people lost their livelihoods, but within 6 months the old management had reopened the Creamery. On a new site in the town since 2015, it now has protected status for the primary cheese product, employs 220+ people and attracts 250,000 to the cafe, shop and visitor attraction at the factory. When you think about it,
in such an out of the way location, it is some achievement. The only downside is that Vera was not allowed inside their cafe. In 2021, a Canadian company bought the company for £23 million. It is to be hoped that the management of Saputo are a wiser bunch than the Dairy Crest counterparts. In a strange twist of fate, Saputo also bought Dairy Crest in 2021 too! The cheese is nice by the way too.
We climbed out of Hawes towards the Buttertubs. An old Suzuki jeep was spewing black clouds of smoke in front of us. I suspect the new London ULEZ would be wanting to charge this particular vehicle double daily rate, if it ever made it towards the capital. The Buttertubs is a challenge for a more modern car. Clarkson filmed one of his post Top Gear roams round the countryside in an expensive car up here. In 2014, the Tour de France organisers threw the route in as a curved ball for the cyclists on Stage 1. Welcome to Yorkshire! The name derives from the limestone potholes, into which farmers would lower their butter to keep it cool on the way to market. We
descended into Swaledale - think Wensleydale, b7t arguably more remote. The Tan Hill destination involved climbing out of Swaledale to the ridge above. The car in front of us baulked at the twisty climb just after Keld. He beckoned us past. He had clearly not been on the training course of the S bend up the bank in the NE Premier Seaside Resort. The road was narrow, involved single track section and effectively going through a farm yard. However, the biggest challenge for us were the cattle grids .... well sheep grids really! We own a dog reared on a farm, who spent the first 2 years of her life living a countryside life away from the urban world. Vera literally wouldn't walk near a car driving past. 2 years on ..... she will stand next to a screeching tram in a city centre, but hates sheep, cattle and positively detests cattle grids. The rumble as the car crosses sends her into panic mode. We literally stopped at everyone. The Other Half got Vera out of the car, carried her across and I drove slowly to pick them up 50 metres on the other side. On a pleasant autumnal afternoon,
it was an inconvenience. In December with a howling wind blowing and rain lashing down, it might not prove to be the ideal solution.
We arrived at Yan Hill Inn about 4.30 pm and checked into the room - a spacious, ensuite, rog friendly family room. The pub was already fairly busy - a mix of drinkers with their designated drivers, walkers, those staying the night and the occupants of various motor homes, which were parked up outside. A roaring fire burned in the bar area. We unloaded the car and headed out for a walk with Vera. She seemed less than impressed by the open expanses of moorland and the sheep for company. It was actually quite mild, but a stiff breeze was blowing. A Yorkshire flag, proudly flying on the pole next to the pub, was rigid in the wind. We changed and I delved into the real ale selection on the bar. The pub filled up, as more campervans arrived. There was plenty of canine companions in situ for Vera. There are often claims of pubs, hotels and restaurants being dog friendly. A more accurate description would be dog tolerant. However, I am pleased to say
Tan Hill is really proper dog friendly. I somehow doubt they would bat an eyelid, if a sheep wandered in. We had reserved a table for our meal. Good plan. A number of those who had not, enviously looked on. Remember, this was a Thursday too ... and not in peak season. The room was comfortable sleep, although we suffered from the noisy neighbours engaged in a bit too much passion into the early hours. I noted they were still all over each other at the very decent Full English breakfast too.
We descended into Swaledale the following morning, just as the Pennine Way walkers were heading off. You have got to admire people who plan to walk the best part of 270 miles. We would see one girl later, whilst we were perusing more waterfalls down at Keld in Swaledale. The last time I had been in these parts, I was engaged in a project for a Geography A Level. On that occasion, the major life lesson was that you can get very wet in Swaledale. We pressed on to Reeth, the biggest village in the upper part of Swaledale. The picture postcard village green is flanked by
3 pubs - The Black Bull, The Buck and The Kings Head - and the very sumptuous looking Burgoyne Hotel. I had been in all 3 pubs on the aforementioned field trip and was somewhat surprised all 3 still appear to thrive, given pub closures elsewhere in the country. Reeth seemed to have prospered over the years and have more facilities these days. We concluded our trip in Richmond - from which I previously blogged - where bizarrely we bumped into people we know from Notts, who just happened to park a few car spaces away from us. Small world!
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Dancing Dave
David Hooper
Bedale
A Celtic Cross - what a noble memorial to the men of Bedale who gave their lives in WW1.