I looked down at my worn out Converse and then up at Nick: trainers, rucksack, litre of water, sandwiches, milk for Murk, iPad (maps saved to photos), iPhone and BULLET proof sun glasses… set for a serious ramble. To be fair we needed all that technology and could have done with a good old-fashioned Ordnance Survey too. Thinking we were headed up onto Flasby Fell we followed the route, around three miles in we agreed the walk was misleadingly named and a few miles after that, figured the route planner had lost the will to live midway through – throwing in vague instructions like zig zig, turn back on yourself, cross a ‘few’ fields….we were lost.
Four hours later, having enjoyed feeling quite lost we finished the walk with a homemade ending and were back at the boat. Far lusher than moorland, The Dales are precision farmed, every stone wall still does a job, the farms are immaculately kept and the hay meadows are beautiful.
We moved one lock on for a view upgrade, a less wonky boat and better barbecue position. The barbecue was a bit of a non starter, keeping the charcoal in the gas hatch isn’t such a good idea over the Leeds and Liverpool where water frequently cascades over the front of a 60ft boat.