When we wake up, the rain is slamming down so it’s on with my rain coat and gaiters before we leave. Rich puts on his coat only, as he has sent his gaiters back. It’s easing a little as we get going down the road, soon taking a track off to the side.
We catch sight of some yellow hammers then almost immediately, we see a fox trotting along ahead of us. At first, the fox is unaware that we are following but soon there is a swish of the bushy, white-tipped tail and it’s What’s the timegone. We enter a field and a surprised barn owl flies away. They are usually crepuscular but it seems that all the wildlife has come out now the rain has all but ceased. The field itself is ploughed and seeded and is full of hares darting here and there. As we reach the far corner of the field, we see a pair of buzzards, the first of many we will see today. I can’t help but wonder if the inches of mud caked onto our boots has made us a bit taller and so able to see more!
Next, we enter yet another field of sweetcorn that has no path cleared through it. We shield our eyes from the leaves with our hands. The next field is wheat and the passage through is obvious. Unfortunately, the way the farmer has so carefully cleared has become overgrown with weeds that have flourished in the fertile soil in the recent sunshine and rain. The leaves and grasses are full of water as we wade through. We go across two precipitous stiles to attain the road.
At the road, Rich asks if we can stop as his feet are squelching. He leans on my offered shoulder and takes off his boots, squeezing large amounts of water out of each sock before putting everything back on again. He is really missing those gaiters. We walk on through the pretty village of Myton before taking a track to a bridge over the river Swale.
The Myton bridge has a rather chequered history, having repeatedly collapsed until the villagers gave up and used a ferry for over 500 years. Then in 1868, the bridge was rebuilt only to start disintegrating again at the beginning of this century. In 2002, the Heritage Lottery Fund helped pay for the bridge to be restored and it is now splendid. We stop for a break on a bench on the far side, Richard takes off his wet socks again and replaced them with a dry pair. Myton is also the site of an ignominious defeat in battle in 1319. The Scots, fresh from a victory at Bannockburn, surrounded a larger but disorganised English force made up of locals, choristers and clergymen by the Archbishop of York , the Bisop of Shelby and the Bishop of Ely. The English, cut off from the bridge, had no escape route and between 1,000 and 4,000 were killed according to contemporary sources. The Scots marched on to York. The battlefield itself is now a wheat field and, like so many other battlefields, shows no evidence of the slaughter that took place there.
We now go on towards Boroughbridge, crossing the Boroughbridge bridge over the Ure (that downstream becomes the Ouse). Boroughbridge is a small, quaint town but it has been inhabited for nearly 5,000 years. As we leave the town to pass under the A1, we come across the Devil’s Fingers, three monoliths probably transported from Knaresborough around 2,700 BC. We have been driving past this location for decades and never knew they were there.
We stop for lunch and, passing some farms with kestrels, find ourselves back at the river Ure. Two common terns fly past as we walk along the river until we reach the Ripon canal. We stop for a break at the first lock as it has an inviting picnic table and fish are jumping in the lock basin. We pass a water bird reserve and briefly see some mute swans, cormorants and greylag geese. We’re sure there are more species there but don’t tarry ( no binoculars). We pass Ripon racecourse, its grass seemingly being tended by some Canada geese, and reach The Unicorn Inn in the market square. Another rest day tomorrow before seven days steady walking to get to Alston.
Total distance so far: 255 miles
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