Saltaire to Skipton
Synopsis
It was the 14th February 2022, a normal day (aside from it being valentine’s day). Mum had been out in the morning with a cycling club, and dad was at home with me, being his normal annoying self. I spent most of the day inside writing a new article for the Yorkshire Life Magazine, which gave me itchy feet to get outside and try out my new camera that I had just bought. It was something I was keen to learn instead of using my phone to take photographs. As I said my goodbyes, dad was sitting there, calmly smiling at me. He was extremely encouraging and said it would be good for me to learn new skills. He was constantly encouraging me because he believed in me and that helped me to believe in myself. Little did I know, within that thirty minutes that I was gone, our family’s lives would soon change forever.
“Robert? Is that you? Come quick, it’s your dad, he’s not well,” - mum shouted.
I walked into the lounge and could see his entire left side had dropped. He looked drunk. I just stood there looking at him. I didn’t know what to do, what to think, how to feel. Time had stopped. Then, he turned to me and said, in a slurry tone, “I think I’ve had a stroke” I stayed with him and kept talking to him, trying to keep his brain working. He was still there mentally and understood everything I was asking him, but now the clock was ticking, it was a matter of time in order to save him.
Moments later the paramedics arrived. They had to get him to hospital as quickly as possible to give him the drug to clear the clot, this was the only hope we had of saving his life. Everything happened so fast. How has this happened? Dad is one of the fittest people I know! I couldn’t believe this was happening. Mum was extremely quick to react, there was nothing more she could have done. We thought we had cracked it, that dad would survive. Unfortunately, a day later, dad slowly deteriorated. The drug that was given to clear the clot caused a bleed deep in the brain. There was nothing more that could be done.
That was the last time I spoke to dad. One week later, he passed away.
Death is inevitable. It happens to everyone and we can’t stop it. We just don’t know when it will happen or how. The shock of dad’s sudden death has deeply saddened us. It’s going to take a long time to come to terms with the fact he isn’t coming back. A part of our family has been taken and will never be replaced. However, although dad may not be here in body, his soul and character will always live on. Within us, around us, and everywhere we go. We come from the earth and we go back to the earth, from ashes to ashes, dust to dust. His legacy he has left will be with us forever.
The Dales Highways was going to be a time for me to get away from it all, to stop the noise in my head, to stop the constant thinking, to grieve and to reset.
Here is how it went….
Day 1
Saltaire - Skitpon - 19 miles
The Dales Highway is a 90-mile voyage over the higher fells of the Yorkshire Dales. It starts from Saltaire and ends in Appleby-in-Westmorland. I had planned to do the full hike in one go, over a period of days, whilst wild camping along the way. Being present in the Yorkshire Dales is something I love. It gives me so much enjoyment and freedom, not to mention, the outdoors is extremely beneficial for both your physical and mental wellbeing. It seemed like the perfect trip!
As I prepared for the adventure, I invested in some new kit, including a bigger 55 litre backpack. It had a lot more space and plenty of padding around the back and waist for heavier loads. Meanwhile, as I began packing, I soon realised I didn’t have as much space as I had thought. There was barely enough space for food once I had packed all my essential gear. It was full to the brim and weighed far a ton! Surely, it’s not meant to be this heavy! I’m sure I’ll get used to it - I thought. There was no way I was going to back out now. I had to give it a go, at least, and it was only by doing it. Would I know if I would succeed?
The weather had been extremely pleasant the last couple of days prior to me starting, but the one day when I had planned to start, it was going to be raining all day! Meanwhile, 7.30am my mum dropped me off in Saltaire at Victoria square, by the Four Lions on Victoria Road. The start of the Highway. I picked up my pack, slung it over my shoulders, and began walking. The route followed through Roberts park, up onto Shipley Glen and over Baildon Moor towards Ilkley Moor. It was extremely foggy, and I could barely see a thing as I made my way up to the top of Baildon Moor. The strain on my shoulders from the weight of the pack became extremely uncomfortable. I stopped many times to readjust the straps where the back support sits, but nothing seemed to work. It had only been 5 miles, there was still another 15 to go! I hope this doesn’t get worse.
From Baildon Moor, I made my way over to Ilkley Moor. It was horrendous and extremely foggy and eery, not only that, heavy rain started. It didn’t stop for hours! Luckily, I was wearing my dad’s super waterproof jacket, but even that didn’t stop the rain from coming in. My boots were leaking too. Everything was wet. My feet were hurting, my back was sore, my hips were sore, my shoulders were sore, my knees were sore. I wanted this to be hard, but what I didn’t want to be miserable and in pain. Shelter, warm food, coffee, and a place to dry off are what I needed now. My morale was extremely low. Luckily, I wasn’t far from the town centre of Ilkley for a quick café stop.
During a moment in the café, I could reflect on the challenge ahead. In my head, I thought I could do it, but now it became apparent that the physical demands were maybe a bit too much. Maybe I won’t be able to finish this? Especially with my pack being so blooming heavy. I wasn’t fully aware of how hard it was going to be. It was supposed to be a day full of enjoyment, but all I could focus on was the pain. However, practicing a bit of negative visualisation helped me come to terms with the fact that I may not finish. By thinking like this, I felt calmer and more collective about the situation. Sometimes you have to accept defeat. I may not complete the entire highway, but I had to at least finish today, however broken I felt. I was determined.
From Ilkley, the road rises steeply high above the low clouds onto Addingham Moorside. It was a clear, long vast plateau as the clouds sat in the valley below. I really enjoyed this; however, it wasn’t until I started descending that it all went drastically wrong. The constant pushing of my toes at the end of my boots caused major issues with my feet. The pain was excruciating, and I could feel blisters forming.
Later on, towards Addingham, the clouds cleared as the sun shone over the Dales. The views were fantastic, but I couldn’t appreciate it. All I could think about was constant pain. The adventure felt like it was over. There was no way I could complete the Dales Highway when I was in so much pain, it wasn’t enjoyable anymore. Everything was hurting, in particularly my feet and shoulders! Every step I took felt agonising. My body was screaming for me to stop. I’ve experienced nothing like it. Almost all of my toenails felt like they could drop off. My shoulders were extremely red, and my lower back felt bruised. I was in a world of hurt.
Seven hours in and I still hadn’t finished. Storms had forecast later in the afternoon too, and I really didn’t want to be caught in another rainstorm. All I had to do was to put one step in front of another. It was as simple as that, but even moving 500 yards seemed an almost impossible task. The number of times I stopped was a lot more than a handful. It was the only way I could finish. Eventually, I waddled my way back into Skipton. It felt like a massive relief to have finished. Although my body felt broken, I will be back to complete the rest.
It’s better to have tried and given it a go, than to have not tried and never know.
