The Quiet Paths

Austwick, April 2026.

On Friday, we once again abandoned the chaos of the kitchen and escaped north, this time to the beautiful village of Austwick, tucked into the Yorkshire Dales. Set between Ingleborough and the rolling limestone landscape of Crummackdale, it’s a place shaped by stone and time — old farmsteads, dry stone walls, and quiet lanes that seem to have changed very little over the years. There’s a long history here too, from its agricultural roots to its place along old packhorse routes, and it carries that quiet, enduring sense of the Dales — steady, unhurried, and deeply rooted in the landscape.

We arrived in the soft evening sunshine and set up camp, the air still and golden around us. After a brief conflab with the rest of the “Famous Five,” dinner was a simple but perfect affair — one of our steadily diminishing supplies of homemade lasagne from the freezer, paired with a glass of wine and a wide, open sunset stretching across the fields.

Saturday began early, with that familiar sense of purpose that comes with a day in the hills.

Our plan was to walk up to the Norber Erratics — one of those quietly remarkable features of the Dales. Scattered across the limestone plateau on the slopes of Ingleborough, these large glacial boulders were carried and deposited here thousands of years ago, left perched on limestone pedestals as the surrounding rock slowly eroded away. It’s an odd and striking sight — great slabs of stone, seemingly balanced and out of place, a reminder of a landscape shaped by forces far older than anything we tend to think about day to day.

Our seven-mile walk took us out through Austwick and up onto the hillside, where the terrain opened out into that familiar limestone world of scars, pavements, and scattered rock.

Birdlife was quieter on the higher ground, but there was still movement if you looked for it — a few wheatears flicking between the stones, and meadow pipits rising and falling in short, fluttering bursts.

We stopped for lunch among the rocks, the kind of pause that feels properly earned, before continuing down the hillside to join the Pennine Bridleway through Wharfe, eventually looping back towards the van. The fields along the way were alive with spring — lambs in abundance, their energy matched only by the sheer number of rabbits darting through the grass.

Back at camp, the afternoon softened into a slower pace. A couple of hours spent relaxing gave way to a barbecue dinner, and as the evening drew in, we took Pepper over to the on-site freedom field. She made the most of it — racing around, playing, and thoroughly enjoying the company. Though, somewhat to my mild annoyance, she seemed to favour Sarah over me… a betrayal I’ll no doubt be reminded of for some time.

We eventually retreated to the van, before rejoining the group for a jolly evening of wine and easy conversation. The light faded gradually, giving way to a clear night where the first stars began to show — one of those simple endings to a day that feels just right.

Sunday morning arrived quietly. We packed up, said our goodbyes, and went our separate ways, though not before a stop at the Courtyard Dairy — a small but excellent detour for cheese and wine supplies, extending the weekend just a little longer.

And then, of course, it was back home. Back to the half-finished kitchen, the dust, the disruption — the familiar chaos waiting exactly where we’d left it.

But weekends like this have a way of shifting things, even if only slightly. A change of landscape, good company, and time spent outdoors — enough to reset the balance, and make the return feel just a little easier.

Sometimes, that’s all it takes.