The Unknown Corner

Until three weeks ago, I hadn’t heard of the hidden gem that is Sand Tarn in The Yorkshire Dales. When I thought of The Yorkshire Dales National Park, I pictured the places that make it famous. Locations like Malham Cove, Goredale Scar and The Ribblehead Viaduct are almost always recommended in the many top ten guides that you can read online. I have visited all of them and can confirm that they are worth the visit. Each is beautiful in its own way, but I’ve found one thing can tend to spoil each of them a little- other people.

The view from the top of Malham Cove is incredible, but I will always remember being almost equally unimpressed by the sea of cars down below. The deep-sided valley you walk en-route to nearby Gordale Scar is truly dramatic, but the many visitors I shared the path with made me feel more like an ant in a long line, rather than an intrepid explorer.

I assure you I am not a miserable traveler, nor do I wish to deter you from visiting these locations. You might be like me though. Having to share approaching roads and paths with many others might just make you long for somewhere quieter and lesser-known. Fear not. The Yorkshire Dales National Park covers a huge area and I have recently discovered a corner of it that is rarely visited.

I only discovered this map after I had visited The North Pennines and decided on the way home that I wanted to visit Cautley Spout, England’s highest waterfall. It looked truly spectacular in photos and better still was the fact that I’d never heard of it. How was that even possible for a geography graduate with a particular fondness for plunge pools and river cliffs? I had also read about the hidden gem called Sand Tarn, which was hard to reach but well worth the effort. I decided then to extend my trip by two days and check these places out. Being such a distance from home near London, it seemed rude not to visit while in the area.

Cautley Spout was awesome. Sometimes this word is over-used, but in this case it is well worthy. I will say no more than that for now, but you can read more about it here. It sits in an incredible area of hills and mountains called The Howgill Fells, with the eastern slopes located within the national park boundary. Indeed, the lake I’d be camping at the following night was also within the national park, but I strangely realised when reading about them that both places weren’t actually in Yorkshire, but Cumbria. This took me by complete surprise and I loved it. Maybe this was part of the reason they were so little-known.

Heading Skywards Once More

After a broken night’s sleep at the top of the waterfall, I made the short drive north along the A683 and parked just off of it on a narrow lane. Stepping out of the car, all I could hear was the sound of sheep and the thick Yorkshire accent of the farmer. I was already smiling as I gathered my equipment and crammed it into my bulging backpack.

I took a wrong turn within minutes and found myself wondering into one of the farmer’s fields by mistake. Thankfully, he saw the funny side of it and pointed me in the right direction. I hoped that would be the only wrong turn I’d make on my quest to find Sand Tarn.

I would be following The Pennine Bridleway for a good bit of the route, before I would have to leave any tracks behind and head cross country. This part both excited and worried me, as I’d already managed to get loss a few hundred metres from my car. Who knew where I might end up?

The climbing started straight away and the miles already in my legs from the previous two days made it hard going. I wasn’t in a rush though and the views, along with the sound of skylarks and distant sheep made for quite the soundtrack.

The next half an hour or so was a mixture of sweating and cursing the climbs, while also enjoying the wide open vistas at every turn of the snaking path. I didn’t see another person, even with it being a sunny and relatively warm Good Friday.

Soon I reached a fork in the road so to speak. The Pennine Bridleway continued to climb into the distance, but away from Great Boar Fell. At 708 metres,this is the highest point in the surrounding area and for me at least acted like a beacon in preventing me from getting lost. I knew from studying my OS map that the summit sat just behind the lake, so figured that heading for the highest point would get me to the lake eventually. With this in mind, I took a faint looking path that veered off to the right away from the safety of the track I’d been following. The sounds of Del Boy were ringing in my eyes as he said, “He Who Dares Wins Rodders, he who dares wins.”

This next part of the walk proved really challenging as a lack of path meant I was now following my nose and the top of the mountain. The ground was also boggy and the tussocky grass made it hard going. I did have company though. All around me, hardy sheep were grazing away, stopping and gawping at me as I passed. Trying to get my breath back, I challenged one to stare off and lost. I was also then followed by what can only be described as a gang of sheep and it was a rather un-nerving experience. As I tried to lift my pace, so did they and I started to fear that they might suddenly run at me with nobody around to hear me my scream for help. Luckily they didn’t and grass eating distracted them. Phew!

I Reach The Hidden Gem- Sand Tarn

Eventually, I climbed my final few steps and almost stumbled upon Sand Tarn. It is amazing how well hidden it is, in such an exposed area. The natural contours of the land would make it quite easy to miss even when only a couple of hundred metres away from it. It is a beautiful spot, yet I wasn’t grinning like Leonardo Di Caprio did when he first clapped eyes on The Beach in Thailand. Two guys were already there and setting up camp in that very same perfect spot I’d seen in photos.

If you hadn’t already worked it out, the lake has earned its name due to the fact that there just so happens to be two sandy areas around the shore. How or why they are there I don’t know, but it does make for quite the sight. I had a brief chat with the guys, who proved to be very friendly indeed, but rather hard to understand at times with strong north-east accents.

I soon headed off to find somewhere to pitch my tent and found a great spot. Behind me was the glistening lake, but the view from my porch was even more impressive. The land dropped away in front of me and offered incredible views out over The Howgill Fells. With the tarn sitting at around 650 metres above sea level, I could see much of The Eden Valley and even the distant craggy outline of The Lake District.

I cooked dinner without incident and I was more than pleased to be now relaxing in my idyllic spot with a grapefruit-infused ale and a setting sun. Apart from the odd breath of wind rustling the outer shell of the tent, all that could be heard was the sound of grouse on the moorland and distant sheep.

As the sun slipped behind the distant hills and mountains, the lights of distant farms and villages started to warmly twinkle. Specks of white and red could be seen moving across the landscape, which happened to be vehicles. Such was my height above them that they could only be seen but not heard. It was actually remarkable how little light there was, showcasing just how rural and sparsely populated the area is.

Lack of clouds allowed the full moon to shine at its fullest. It meant I wouldn’t see a beautiful starry sky, but it proved beautiful as it illuminated the landscape and reflected off of the lake. I spent the remainder of the evening enjoying the views, but also headed over to have a drink with the other two campers. They knew the area well and explained how they almost always had it completely to themselves. Having another camper here was a rarity.

By 11pm I had tucked myself into my sleeping bag and settled down for a peaceful night’s sleep. It wasn’t too cold, but the wind picked up in the early hours and woke me. I think this is is a standard wild camping experience, especially when at a higher elevation. By the time I rose to make breakfast at dawn, fog had replaced the clear sky from the previous night. I could no longer see to the other side of the lake and so my plan to climb to the top of Great Boar Fell seemed pointless.

It didn’t matter though. As I packed away my tent and said goodbye to my home for the night, I thought myself very lucky that I’d had the opportunity to visit such a beautiful spot. Camping there made it even more special, because it made me feel at one with the place. I’ll certainly be back in the future, but will make sure it’s not during a windy spell. I can well imagine that Great Boar Fell could be re-named Wild Boar Fell at those times.