Camping it up

by NobblySan

Last weekend, Mrs N, the beasties and I were camping with a group of friends in Hawes in Wensleydale. That’s Yorkshire for them wot don’t know.

Ee – it were reet grand!

On Saturday we went for a walk that took in a couple of pubs, and in memory of Peter Sallis, I’d like to say “Cracking weather, Grommit!”

Photos here.




7 Comments to “Camping it up”

  1. Wow, such incredibly beautiful countryside.

    And Wensleydale – isn’t that where Cheddar cheese comes from ?


    • That’s right, ratty – it’s gorgeous!

      God’s country, they call it, but atheism hasn’t really caught on yet, in those parts.

      Last time I was in Hawes was in about 1973, when I walked the Pennine Way with my brother.

      Of course, we were backpacking though, not ‘glamping’.

      Nice pics, Nobs!


  2. I thought you’d been there, ratty.

    I’m sure I heard you say once that you’d visited Hawes on hundreds of occasions . . .


  3. Why, you lazy goat, “hiking” on a paved trail. Is that how all you Brits do it, prancing from rock to rock, keeping your delicate little tootsies dry? And your clothes–they’re all clean and pressed! What the hell? Don’t you know the rules? It ain’t camping until something important is ripped and irreparably stained.

    And that campsite! It’s so clean and manicured! Where’s the shrubbery and ticks? Where’s the mud and bloodthirsty bears? Where’s the rednecks blasting rock music and shooting empty Coors Light cans off the tops of “WARNING! No shooting!” signs? Where’s the trash, both human and other?

    You wouldn’t survive one night in a ‘Murican public campsite, sir. (And neither would I, that’s why I never enter them.)

    Just kidding, lovely photos, Nobster. I can practically smell the sweet, fresh air. Well, upwind of your boozing, anyway, you lush. Love the sheep-flecked hills. Are they friendly or do you have to deflect random buttings? I’m also enamored with that waterway. I’m fascinated with the solid rock-ness of it–no sand or shore or anything, just a flooded road of sorts. Is the land like that everywhere underneath the soil? All flat rock just a few feet down? Interesting.

    If you add about a billion 100-foot-tall Douglas fir trees, you’d have Oregon, no kidding. We may have to import our cheddar, but not our blue.

    Now, I’m hungry, damnit.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Now look here . . . !

      Some of those paving slabs take ages to climb over when you’re my height. It was bloody hard work.

      The sheep aren’t vicious – they just give you a bit of a sheepish look as you walk past, irrespective of the randomness of your butt.

      Incidentally, the old bloke with the shepherd’s crook and the flat cap was a local farmer that we met. He offered to show us the right path to take and walked with us for about a mile. He had just turned 90 years old and was more bloody sprightly than some of our lot.

      How we managed to learn this is a bit of a mystery as we could barely understand a word he said; I’ve heard some broad Yorkshire accents and dialect in the past , but this bloke was on a different scale.

      Maybe he was Hungarian or something.


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