So, here we are: The Herriot Way – over fifty miles of beautiful Dale’s countryside, named for the great and famous veterinarian. This will be our first joint venture into long-distance walking, and come rain or shine, the next four days will see us climb o’er mountain and through dale.
But first, context!
I have been visiting Yorkshire as long as I can remember. It was this area of the world that, in no small part, laid the foundations for my love of the countryside, and indeed walking through it. As for the Herriot Way itself, I have completed it on two previous occasions. Firstly, back in the summer of 2013, with my mum and dad. Secondly, more recently in spring 2023, just before we started the blog, for my friend James’ stag do. Each occasion birthed plenty of memories and were, of course, well distinguishable from the others. Since then, I have repeatedly said that I thought Beth would really enjoy it too. So, here we go!
Drawing from my previous knowledge, sprinkled with a little of Beth cost-conscious fairy dust, we had organised ourselves and our itinerary, so all was sorted in advance. We had the kit, we had the accommodation, and we had the sherpas to carry the necessities in between stops; in short, we had a plan. We were due to commence the walk on Monday 14th September; however, as Yorkshire is obviously a considerable drive from Kent, we were due to arrive in the Dales on the Sunday instead. Yet, as the time drew nearer and the excitement built, one of the classic Huggins family traditions reared its head: starting the journey the evening before, and stopping somewhere halfway. This was encouraged no end by my parents, who even offered to fund half of the night’s stay at the Grantham Premier Inn for us; naturally, this sealed the deal!
The adventure had begun, therefore, on the Saturday. After Beth had picked me up from work at 5pm sharp, we had whizzed our way up the country to our stopping point and enjoyed a late dinner and the beautiful first, freeing pints of the holiday. We were then sure to leave reasonably early the next day to reach one of our favourite spots for opening time: The Forbidden Corner. This psychedelic trip of the weird and wonderful may be designed for children, but we are just big kids. Beth took great delight in ticking off everything on the leaflet and even adding an extra which we had failed to find last time (the large, wicker dog, which has since been retired and can be seen across a field, tucked out of the way in the distance – but it still counts!). We then carried on and dove deeper into the dales themselves and arrived at the Wensleydale Creamery for a “Cheesy Afternoon Tea”, which was scrumptious. This was followed by a stroll around Hawes, and a short drive up to Hardraw, where we saw its famous waterfall and enjoyed a couple of sunny pints sat outside The Green Dragon. It was then time to check in at our Youth Hostel back in Hawes, and we rounded off the evening with a stroll around the nearby farms (which turned out to be a little longer than anticipated – I almost blogged it) and finally a portion of chips from the chippy and some deep-fried Wensleydale. We then went up to sleep in our single beds, because they were £20 cheaper.
Then, the morning came, and the time was almost upon us. I awoke to a view out the window of a misty dale, the glow of the sun hiding through the low clouds of early dawn. It was tantalizing, and calling to us. As we sat and enjoyed our cooked breakfasts, Beth looked decidedly nervous. The cows, the distances, her knees, all whirled in a big ball of concern in her mind. Yet, we were prepared, we were fit, and we were ready – let’s do this!
As we drove over to our starting point, I was decidedly excited. The morning mist had lifted, and blue sky and sun were beginning to peek through, a good omen. We arrived at the Aysgarth Falls visitors centre and put our weeks parking permit on clear display on the dashboard. We then finished our preparations, firmly tied our boots, adjusted our straps, and locked the car at about twenty past nine. Now, all that was left to do was to begin. And so, together, hand in hand, we took our first steps. Over fifty miles lay before us. Fifty miles of mountain and fell, of moor and dale. Fifty miles of rain and sunshine, of cow and sheep. Fifty miles of each other’s company, and adventure. And as we walked across the car park, there was only one thing on our minds: had we definitely locked the car? I quickly ran back to check (we had), and so we waved it goodbye and truly set off.
We crossed over a large stone bridge over the river Ure, which would be a big feature of the day, and paused to take in the Upper Aysgarth Falls (the middle and lower would remain a secret for a few more days). After this, Beth was introduced to The Herriot Way rather abruptly, with a very sharp climb as the road rose away from the river. Toward the top, we picked up our first footpath. Straight away, we encountered the small, wooden gates, attached to often violent springs across narrow gaps in the distinctive drystone walls that are synonymous with the area. I have come to love them; Beth, over the next few days, as she squeezed herself through and her poles clattered on the stone, took a little getting used to them. Then, mere minutes in, as we entered literally our first farmed field of the walk, we came across, sure enough, our first cattle. Not ideal, from Beth’s perspective; however, the two cows were not bothered by our presence and let us pass without fuss, which I’m sure will have settled some nerves.
Aside from this, the first couple of miles passed smoothly, as we settled ourselves into the rhythm of the walk. We quickly made it to Aysgarth itself, and out the other side made our way back down to the banks of the Ure, where we first made an attempt at taming Beth’s poles, strapped to her pack. We popped out on the road for a short spell before crossing back over the river, and here our first long stretch of uninterrupted footpath was laid out before us. I have always loved this bit. Partly, I’m sure, because being the very first part of day one, it has always come with overexcitement. However, it is also very beautiful. The winding river seems to glow brilliantly, deeply blue in the heart of the dale. Scatterings of sheep wait to greet you, as miles suddenly pass easily beneath boot. We did encounter our first sizable herd of cows, but again they were unbothered, and we were able to give them plenty of space. We also came across another, similar-sized herd; however, they had the good grace to be on the other side of a wall. We stopped to admire them, particularly the impressively muscular bull in their midst; this would be the first of several bulls we would come across over the next few days.
Our path then turned us away from the Ure, and led us through a series of stone-walled fields containing flocks of the distinctive, black-faced Yorkshire sheep, steadily upward toward the little village of Askrigg. We walked up between the tightly nit cottages into the village centre, and made our way to the bakery. This place is great and always has plenty of tasty treats on offer – on this occasion, I bought a Toffifee blonde, Beth bought a Caramel Wispa brownie, and we each bought a Nutella flapjack. We then went back outside and plonked ourselves down on the market cross in the village centre, and took our bags off for a few minutes and a drink – looking at the map, we were nearly halfway, and were doing very well! It was also at this moment that, thinking of what was coming up, Beth decided it was time to break out the poles. We made our way out of Akrigg, Beth clattering on the concrete.
We crossed a sloped pasture into a patch of trees lining a steeply climbing stream. As we traversed upward along the rising edge of the narrow valley over countless roots, Beth’s poles quickly came into play. Along the way, we disturbed a load of pheasants, who went running ahead, occasionally exploding back out into the opening, one of which made me jump. Eventually we reached the point where a path led away downhill. We followed, soon coming to its end, where we were greeted with Mill Gill Force; a beautiful, hidden waterfall. This marked pretty much the halfway point of the day, and it was more or less lunchtime; so we sat ourselves down on a rock to eat. We enjoyed our meal deal we had got from the Hawes Spar that morning, along with the extremely tasty blonde and brownie we had just purchased. It’s fair to say that this was one of our more spectacular lunch spots, with the water roaring down over the rocks in front of us and rushing downstream. This was a lovely spot to mark day one of the walk, and all was well until we stood up and found that Beth had squished a small slug beneath her sit mat – RIP Slug.
Once we had climbed back up to the footpath and emerged from the woody gill, we were greeted with a bright, far-reaching view down at Wensleydale stretching away below us. In comparison to the riverside walk which made up the first part of the day, this view set the tone for the second. We made our way over footpaths, heading over the great sides of the rising fells through classic Yorkshire countryside. Undulating fields, drystone walls, flocks of sheep, and eventually a little lane. This brought us to “the longest stretch of road-walking of The Heriot Way”, according to the guidebook, at ¾ of a mile. It steadily wound its way back into a quiet track, then eventually a footpath once more. We plunged into the heart of Wensleydale farmland, passing countless sheep without seeing any sign of the 21st century, which was of course lovely.
The sheep poop did eventually turn into the pats of cows, which naturally caught Beth’s attention, and the nerves began to rise. We did eventually come across the culprits: three small, grey cows. Unfortunately, we met them at a point where the field narrowed. They were hanging out beneath a tree against a dry stone wall, and the fence ran along opposite them only a few meters away. They remained calm, but Beth remained anxious. To her credit, she was brave enough to keep walking and focus dead ahead. Once she was safely past, I stopped to have a short conversation with them before turning to catch up to Beth’s fast step. The next obstacle approached pretty soon after, in the form of an overgrown, diverted footpath. Whereas I did my best to use my coat as something of a shield, to reasonable success, Beth took the opportunity to try out her emergency waterproof over trousers, which were far superior. On the other side we were rewarded with some chickens, and on we went.
Next, we got lost amongst a tiny patch of houses looking for the correct way through (I am pleased to say that we are not still there), and soon after were making our way into the little settlement of Sedbusk. Out the other side, we looked across the countryside ahead, and saw a seemingly endless string of narrow paddocks, divided by the stone walls and their little spring doors. One by one, we traversed the paddocks. Some had sheep, some had nothing, some had chickens, but each had another one waiting afterwards…until finally, it didn’t!
When we did eventually hit road again, we found ourselves at the Simonstone Hotel. Famous for being the place where Jeremy Clarkson punched a producer in the face and ended his BBC career, it is also a lovely stop. The hotel was quiet, and we sat ourselves down in prime seats in the well-kept garden, overlooking Wensleydale. We settled down, starting with a pint of Hawkstone lager and cider (very appropriate). As we sat there, the quick breeze sent the clouds running above us, leading to regular spells of blue skies and warm sun upon our skin. I got myself a second pint, and then Beth went to get herself a pink gin and lemonade, and brought me back a third. In the end, we rested here for over an hour. Neither of us were driving anywhere, we didn’t have to be anywhere, and the weather was pleasant. We were even joined by a couple of chickens pecking about. It was absolutely perfect, but eventually, The Herriot Way called us on.
Naturally, as we began to head back toward the floor of the dale away from the hotel, both of us were somewhat merry. We made our way down a steep pasture, passed The Green Dragon, and were soon approaching the outskirts of Hawes, all of which whilst still riding high from our beverages. We hit the road and crossed back over the river Ure, which had made up the first portion of the day, saw another impressive bull, and plodded back into the market town. We walked over the tumbling Gayle Beck, along its winding, cobbled lane, passed a very stoned eeyore which was sat outside the Market House, up the steep slope back to the Youth Hostel, and then all of a sudden, we were back, a little before five o’clock – Day 1 complete!
We were both pleased to find that we felt well at the end of the first day. Our usual trouble areas (Beth’s knee and my shoulder) were causing no issues. We had slightly achy feet, as to be expected, but overall, we were feeling good. Not to say that we weren’t tired! After a quick shower and change of clothes, we plodded back into town to grab a greasy pizza each (and some nuggets for me), before crashing out into bed – our individual, cheapest possible beds.
