Fog On Ingleborough
Luce Smith, Features Writer
I'm on a weeks staycation! So this week, I bring to you a review of, in my opinion, the best peak out of the 3, Ingleborough.
I look out, and it's pouring with rain. Thanks God, you knew I wanted to walk up Ingleborough today, why did you have to throw this wet stuff down in abundance at me? I mean, really? I spent most of yesterday in the car, in the phlebotomy department, and in a chair, I need to get up and out! Is this really necessary?
I look up again, not sure what for, am I looking for God to wave down at me and go 'Ha ha!!, look at me all snuggled up and dry up here in heaven....'. Wait. Is God in heaven? Is that where he lives? Or does he just say whether you have earned your place in heaven? Am confused, my Dad won't be amused 'didn't they teach you anything in Sunday School?', well, they might have done, but I don't remember ever addressing an envelope for the attention of God, so I'm unsure of his residential address!
Where was I, oh yes, the wonderful rain.
I didn't pack for this weather, I intended to wear my (shock horror) shorts. Well, no one would see would they...did I even have a what I call waterproof? No, it's the summer, and as yet, it hasn't made a very good sunny impact yet. I'm waiting....
Maybe it sounds worse on the Velux window, perhaps it is just a passing shower. I go downstairs to see Dad looking out of the window saying, ' I can't believe you're forcing me to go walking in this!' Talk about role reversal. Dad, let's go back 25 years and see how many hills we were dragged up as children, with the only reward being a hot chocolate and a piece of Mum's flapjack! (Which is amazing by the way, and a well deserved slab of high sugar ingredients, but why flapjack as a name? Bit sexist really, what was wrong with flapmary? Sorry, I must Google....bear with)
I let my Dad off the hook, the dog runs out before me not caring one bit about the weather, and off we go with a pencil drawing of the route from Dad. 'Watch out for the fog' 'yes Dad'........
We park up and get walking across the fields in the wet grass. The air is lovely and fresh, not cold, and only a little damp. Good walking weather. The rain slows down and it's actually quite pleasant.
Gosh, flap, used 'to flip' and jack because that was referred to a small size, and they were small! Dating back to the 1600's. Also used to be known as a pancake? Why don't we have flapjack day I wonder........ Then in the 20th century, it's a word used for a compact face powder! I have no idea where that came from, maybe slapdash...... Ah well, educated you now :)
So, I'm walking along the path to reach the bottom of the climb up to Ingleborough peak. It's quite foggy, but as I start my climb, the fog rolls up and clears so that I can see the top. But it's only the top until you get to it realising it's the penultimate top. I go up the rocky steps and the fog returns. I can't not touch the summit of the hill, I would feel like a cheat.
I remember Dad's last words about the fog, and take a look back at the path. Ok, so straight to the summit, selfie, a 180 turn, and back down. The fog gets worse and the rain begins again. I look up to have words with God, but of course I can't see him. I'm not even sure where the dog is! Ah yes, down rolling in something that will probably smell of a toilet ;(
The fog is a bit scary, and I'm soaked. And lost! Where's the path I walked up? I look out and the fog begins to clear and all of a sudden, you can see the viaduct, clear as anything. Perfect, I ring home and get navigational advice. No Dad, am not lost, just took a different route back down. Ok, keep Ribblehead behind me, will do.
I walk through the boggy marshes, expecting to bump into the path sometime soon. 25 minutes later, I see a body walking up Ingleborough. He's on the path!! My face hurts from the massive smile of delight! I want to run over to them, but realise it's quite rough terrain still, and the fog comes down again. I keep going and finally, my feet touch the path. I am so relieved, I could kiss it!
We carry on back down, wondering how on earth we got so disorientated. My lovely other half won't be shocked, already knowing of my poor navigation. Ah well, soon be back to the car. It seems to take forever to get back down, and I pass a family with a map, who stop and ask me for directions to the top. Am I qualified to give this information??! I tell them to carry on up the path and reassure them they won't get lost.
Typically, the weather improves, and it's now sunny and dry. My feet are carrying what feels like litres of horrible field water. I need a shower.
We jump in the car and drive back.
Dad asks how it was, and was it foggy? Urm, well, you may have been right to warn me........
Fog On Ingleborough, 5th August 2016, 9:27 AM