Barbeque, Banter, and Bonding in the Beautiful Yorkshire Dales

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A Surprise Invite!

It was sometime in June when I got a call from my friend Saikumar, casually asking if I’d be up for a hiking-cum-camping trip to Malham Cove in the Yorkshire Dales National Park during the first week of August. Boys-only, our Malayali gang, he said. Morning hikes, evening barbecues, and camping under the stars at the Red Pump Inn in Clitheroe.

I didn’t need convincing – he had me at “barbecue.”

This surprise invite jolted my otherwise sedentary travel calendar into action. I started counting down the days like an NRI waiting for his annual trip to India. Wanderscapes’ motto has always been “the journey never ends,” but lately, it’s felt more like “the journey never begins.”

Apart from the occasional day birding trips with the Liverpool RSPB group – or our own day trips – we had been grounded. Thankfully, those birding jaunts around Liverpool have been our saving grace. And the bird count? Over 150 species this year. Not bad for a bunch of weekend wanderers with binoculars and sandwiches.

Nature’s been kind. Birds have been chatty. But travel? That’s been on mute. To be honest, we’ve ticked off most of the UK’s touristy hotspots. What’s left either requires a lottery win or a sabbatical. Preferably both. And speaking of sabbatical, I am on a forced one, so this invite came at the perfect time for me.

Planning and Logistics

As is the habit in the digital era of Teams calls, it was only fitting that we had a couple to sort out logistics. I was designated the treasurer, so I had the honour of collecting funds and keeping an eye on the spending. It was decided that the ten of us would travel in two cars, grouped by proximity – people living near each other bundled into the same vehicle. The group was a mixed bag: a few expert hikers, some “okay-ish” ones, and a handful who were, well… novices. I’d comfortably place myself in the middle category – ambitious but realistic.

A comprehensive checklist was shared with the group to make sure no one forgot anything crucial. The most important item (drinks, obviously) was heroically picked up by Sai from Costco. And there went 25% of our budget! He also grabbed snacks and fruits to help us survive the hike – because nothing fuels a trek like trail mix and optimism. The barbecue supplies were to be sourced locally from Clitheroe, because let’s be honest – no adventure is complete without a bit of last-minute meat shopping.

Early Start

On the day of the hike, I was up at 4:15 a.m., whipping up bread-omelettes for three or four fellow hikers. It was to be our breakfast – simple, protein-packed, and just about edible. Since dinner plans were still a mystery, we figured it was best to start the day with something solid. Lunch? Nobody even thought about it!

Car Number 1, driven by Dr Nithin, was scheduled to converge at my house by 5:45 a.m., mainly because I have decent parking (a rare commodity in our parts). But, as expected, a couple of our car-fellas were late, triggering the first concall of the day.

Car 2, with Ajayan at the wheel, was already enroute, and we were running ten minutes behind schedule. Nevertheless, we rolled out just after 6 a.m. Our first checkpoint was the Welcome Break at Chorley on the M6, where we caught up with the other car. After a quick pit stop and a mandatory group selfie, we hit the road again, heading straight for the Malham Cove Visitor Centre car park.

Arrival at the Yorkshire Dales Visitor Centre

We reached the Visitor Centre car park just past 8 a.m. There were barely four or five cars around – clearly, the ultra-early hikers had already beaten us to it. Our first main act of the day? Breakfast, of course. We dove into sandwiches and fruits like we hadn’t eaten in days.

All the snack supplies and fruit rations were distributed among the ten of us with the efficiency of a military operation – except with more cling film and less discipline. Parking tickets were swiftly paid, and we set off soon after. A few of us surged ahead, leading the group with the confidence of seasoned trekkers.

But just as we turned onto the road, I realised the majority had vanished. No sign of them. It turned out the Visitor Centre toilets were open, and our fellow hikers had made a pit stop. Nature called, and they answered. The whole episode cost us a good 20 minutes, and our group leader Sai was visibly hassled -his inner spreadsheet had already gone off-schedule.

Malham Cove – The First Challenge

After about five minutes of walking, we veered off onto a path through a gate onto Malham Cove – the majestic 230-foot-high cliff of white limestone, proudly standing as one of Yorkshire’s famous sights. It’s even had its brush with fame: Harry Potter and Hermione were here in November 2009 for a rendezvous. If it’s good enough for them wizards, it’s good enough for us muggles.

A short ten-minute walk brought us to the base of the cliff. I had read during my hike research that following a storm in 2015, a temporary waterfall had appeared here – the UK’s highest single-drop waterfall, no less. Sadly, that spectacle wasn’t on the cards for us.

The Met Office had promised a warm summer day, and so far, they weren’t bluffing. Despite the heatwave, a gentle stream flowed nearby, adding to the postcard-perfect setting. A group of rock climbers were already scaling the limestone like pros while we admired from a safe, snack-filled distance.

Naturally, we paused for a mini photo shoot – that was our way of leaving a mark. No graffiti, just grins, group poses, and a few attempts at looking like rugged, expert hikers. Then came our first challenge: a climb up 400 irregular stone steps to the top of the cliff. The path looked daunting, its steep incline silently daring us to try, while a couple of hikers exchanged that are-we-really-doing-this look.

The Ascent

Sensing the rising tension, Sai reassured us that this was the only incline of our 16 km hike. “Once we’re past this,” he promised, “it’s a lovely flat stroll on a table-top plateau.” The thought of flat ground was comforting, and with our inner strength summoned (and outer strength still questioning Sai), we began the ascent.

As expected, a few hikers shot ahead, while others settled into the middle of the pack. My personal hiking strategy is simple: stick with the laggard. It buys me breathing space, gives me an excuse for a slower pace, and best of all, any blame for holding up the group never falls on me. On this hike, my perfect partner in strategic lagging was my good friend Ajayan. A few others had also discovered this winning formula.

Halfway up, I paused to catch my breath – partly for oxygen, partly to admire the view. About twenty steps behind me, Ajayan decided it was time for a wardrobe change, peeling off his t-shirt. It was a warm day, and by now sweat was our most loyal companion.

Group hikes have their own charm and fun. We joked, teased, and kept each other entertained, making the climb feel less like a struggle and more like a slow-moving circus. By the time I reached the halfway mark, Dr Nithin, Rajith and Joshy were already at the top, sitting like kings on a limestone ledge. Their early victory was the motivation we needed, and in about five more minutes, we joined them – panting but triumphant.

Limestone Pavement and the Pleasure Walk – A Yorkshire Dales Special

The scene was picture-perfect: we the hikers, were neatly lined up for a group shot, while ahead of us stretched an uneven limestone pavement – fascinating in its patterns and almost as striking as the famous Malham cliffs.

Later, back at home, I realised that Harry Potter and Hermione had made their presence felt here, not at the cliff below. So much for my Pottermaniac credentials!!! Once we reached the top of the cliff, it truly was – as Sai declared – a “pleasure walk.” And for once, he wasn’t exaggerating.

This was the best part of our hike. We trudged through a scenic valley, flanked by hills on both sides. The path had its quirks – occasional boulders made walking a bit tricky, and there were a few inclines that tested our knees, but nothing compared to the earlier climb. We passed through large swathes of open fields – classic hillside vibes. Ramkumar and Anil joked that they should’ve brought their cricket gear. Meanwhile, we were happily munching on nut sachets, occasionally stopping for drinks and dramatic sighs of exhaustion.

It was warm – very warm – but also incredibly windy. I had to clutch my hat like it was trying to escape to Scotland. Through all this, the leg-pulling and trolling were in full swing, with Sai and Nithin -our trip organisers – taking most of the hits. The banter, the breeze, and the bumpy terrain kept the energy high.

The Road Detour

Soon, our hiking trail intersected with a road. We watched other hikers casually cross it and continue cutting through the valley, which seemed like the obvious choice. Naturally, most of us assumed we’d follow suit. But our group lead had other ideas. According to his trusty Google Maps, we were to take a sharp left and walk along the road instead. This detour, he assured us, would bring us closer to the lake -and then later the waterfall. These two natural wonders had been enthusiastically “sold” to us right at the start of the hike.

The catch? Taking the road meant the total hike would stretch to a whopping 16 km – far longer than anyone had mentally budgeted for. As the realisation sank in, the valley echoed with calls for leadership change: “The President & Secretary must resign!” Everyone knew exactly who was being referenced here.

With no other option, we trudged along the road. Cars zipped past, reminding us that there was a car park on this plateau – just behind us. So yes, if someone wanted to hike here without climbing cliffs, they could simply drive up. But where’s the fun in that? By this stage, the sun was blazing. We’d been walking for hours with no real break — just photo stops and sighs. “We need a break! Can we rest?” was swiftly dismissed. The lake was our promised land, and we walked on.

National Trust Detour

After a few kilometres, we turned right, but the road refused to leave us. The lake shimmered in the distance like an oasis. Still, Sai’s Google Maps urged us forward. None of us had mobile signal, so most wondered how Sai’s phone was still functioning – possibly powered by sheer optimism and Costco snacks.

Soon, we reached a point where a path branched off to the right, marked by a National Trust board: Malham Tarn Nature Reserve. The path looked inviting – lush, shaded, and mercifully not made of hot tar. Sai stood firm, insisting we stick to the road, but the group had other ideas.

Finally, for once, democracy prevailed, and we turned into the National Trust property path. The scenic walk through the Nature Reserve was fantastic. A boardwalk snaked through boggy terrain and woodland, offering a welcome change from the relentless road. It reminded me of RSPB Leighton Moss – the birdwatcher in me stirred. My binoculars, which had been lounging uselessly around my neck all day, suddenly found purpose.

Sun, Rain, and Snacks

Then, as if on cue, it rained. Correction – it poured. The downpour caught us off guard. I scrambled for my raincoat, silently congratulating myself for packing it. A few others weren’t so lucky, having trusted the morning’s warm weather forecast. Scoreboard update: Met Office – 1, Hikers – 0.

Our only refuge was a tree near the boardwalk. But by the time we reached it, the rain had stopped. Classic British weather – dramatic entrance, abrupt exit. Realising the lake was still a fair distance away, out came the snacks and drinks. Crisps, nuts, and hydration flowed. Temporary satisfaction achieved, we resumed our march.

Arrival at Malham Tarn

Soon, we exited the National Trust property and found ourselves back on a road, shaded by woodland. Sai, ever the navigator, informed us that the lake was just around the corner. “Another 15 minutes,” he said. We’d heard that before.

At last, part of the lake came into view – just 20 metres off the road. The wind had picked up, a welcome contrast to the earlier heat. Families, kids, and dogs filled the area. We spotted a bird hide, a short detour away. I planned to scan for water birds – maybe tick off a new species. My fellow hikers saw it as a lunch spot.

Inside, families and kids crunched crisps. I spotted a few Canada geese far off. No ducks, no swans – birding disappointment confirmed. We exited swiftly. Finally, Google Maps redeemed itself. The lake view was spectacular – blue water, blue sky, waves lapping at the shore.

This stunning spot became our lunch zone. Lunch was a mix of breakfast leftovers and whatever had survived the hike: sandwiches, bread-omelettes, nuts, bananas, and drinks. For the first time since the hike began – almost five hours ago – we took a proper break.

On to Janet’s Foss

With spirits lifted, we set off toward Janet’s Foss. We were back on the road, but soon turned onto a proper trail, which lightened the mood. Before the waterfall, we stumbled upon an ice cream van by a small bridge over a stream. No one was hungry, but the idea snowballed. Cones were ordered, spirits soared, and we moved on.

Janet’s Foss is a charming little waterfall tucked into a limestone nook, with a pool perfect for mischief. Legend says Janet was a fairy queen who lived in a cave behind the falls. We saw no fairies, but plenty of humans splashing about. Sai, Nithin, Ajayan, Rajith, and Anil leapt in wearing just vests. I was tempted too, but the water was glacial. Within 30 seconds, my legs were numb. I scrambled out, shivering like a defrosted chicken.

Photographic evidence was, of course, mandatory. Joshy waded in just for the shot, then joined the fun. Inspired, I made two more attempts – same result: numb legs, hasty retreat. Ram, Shan, and Rajesh played amused spectators. After 15–20 minutes, the swimmers emerged, buzzing. For them, his was, unanimously, the highlight of the trip. The hike came a distant second.

The Return

We’d nearly completed a circular route – just a couple of kilometres more to the car park. Thanks to our earlier road detour, we ran out of time to visit Gordale Scar. But after the icy baptism at Janet’s Foss, no one seemed to mind.

The walk back ran alongside a stream through lush countryside – greenery, stone walls, and sheep giving us side-eye. It was clearly a popular route, with plenty of walkers. At the car park, we piled into our cars, tired but triumphant. Next mission: Clitheroe Tesco, for barbecue supplies. With bags full of chicken, pork, wraps, vegetables, masalas, and all things grill able, we headed to our campsite – the Red Pump Inn.

The Red Pump Inn – Why We Chose It

The original plan was to go full-on tented camping after the hike. But memories of a previous North Wales trip (I was not there) – where tents doubled as waterbeds and wind machines – were still fresh for some. So, Sai scouted for a low-fuss, high-fun alternative. The Red Pump Inn ticked all the boxes: comfort, charm, and the ability to hike, eat, and drink without battling the elements.

First Impressions

Nestled in the Forest of Bowland, within the scenic Ribble Valley, the Red Pump Inn is a cosy country retreat with serious vintage vibes. It offers a mix of accommodations ranging from luxury boutique B&B rooms to glamping yurts and shepherd huts.

A quick chat with the owner, Jonathon, at check-in revealed that the inn dates to the 1750s, and the current owners took over about 11 years ago. The interiors, especially the reception area, looked ready to spill centuries of stories. Books, antiques, and nostalgic touches gave it that old-world charm – like stepping into a time capsule.

Our Yurt Setup

We’d booked the glamping yurts – budget-friendly, group-ready, and perfect for a night of barbecue and classic Indian-style evening banter. We had three out of the four available: two yurts for four people each, and one for three.

Tucked away from the pub and B&B area, this little corner gave us the privacy to turn it into our own mini base camp. I bunked with Dr Nithin, Anil, and Rajith – a self-declared snorers’ collective. Earplugs optional, bravery mandatory. The fourth yurt was occupied by two unsuspecting lads. I silently wished them luck for their bad timing – camping in on the evening when a boisterous gang checked in.

Barbecue Time

We checked in at 4:30 p.m. and out came the barbecue supplies. Dr Nithin took charge of the grill but was unimpressed with the charcoal, threatening to drive back to Clitheroe for a better batch. Anil and Shan diplomatically insisted it was fine. Crisis averted. Meanwhile, Shan got to work marinating the chicken and pork we’d picked up from Tesco – his spice game strong and unapologetically bold. On another table, Rajesh, Joshy, and Ram were chopping veggies and assembling a salad that looked suspiciously healthy for a gang of ravenous hikers. Suspicious, but impressive.

Anil fired up his portable music system and soon nostalgic Malayalam hits from the 1980s were floating through the air -equal parts melody and memory. Sai took charge of the drinks counter, arranging all options with the precision of a seasoned bartender-slash-quartermaster. Meanwhile, I spotted fellow hikers giving dutiful video call attendance to their families – proof that we were still alive and hadn’t been eaten by sheep.

The few who didn’t take the plunge at Janet’s Foss earlier, took this opportunity for a more civilised rinse at the yurt. No waterfall, but no regrets either.

Party Mode

From here on, the evening turned festive. Someone started dancing, others joined in. Sing-along karaoke broke out. The barbecue coals finally got their act together, and the meat hit the grill. The salad was a surprise hit – crunchy veggies, peanuts, lime, green leaves, and masala all working in perfect harmony. Brandy emerged as the crowd favourite, with vodka quietly appreciated by a couple of loyalists.

The only hiccup in our otherwise flawless setup? No rice. No chapati. No bread. Just one lonely packet of wrap, which didn’t exactly spark joy. But the mood was so buoyant, no one really complained. The grilled meat and salad combo carried us through.

For the next three to four hours, as tummies filled with barbecue and drinks gently tiptoed into our heads, the fun rolled on. Songs and dances came in waves – some coordinated, most improvised. We occasionally wondered about the two lads in the fourth yurt. Were they still hanging in there? Or had they quietly packed up, begged Jonathon for a refund, and fled in search of the silent countryside evening they’d originally signed up for?

Winding Down

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the temperature followed suit. I pulled out my raincoat – not for protection from rain, but to shield against the chill. Remember, this was a minimum luggage trip. Every item had to earn its place, and tonight, the raincoat was MVP.

Gradually, the law of diminishing marginal utility kicked in. The eating slowed. The drinking mellowed. Talking took centre stage. Stories flowed, laughter echoed, and the vibe shifted from party mode to campfire camaraderie – minus the actual fire. Eventually, someone declared it was time to clean up and head into the yurts. We packed up, tidied the area, and migrated indoors.

The “sabha” resumed in our yurt, where random discussions and unsolicited life lessons began to surface – courtesy of our in-house Gurus. Then someone asked Ram and Sai to sing. They obliged, and the impromptu concert carried on well into the night. I don’t remember when my eyes finally shut. But I do remember this: it was a long day, tiring in parts, enjoyable throughout, and absolutely packed with fun.

The Morning After

The next morning, I woke up surprisingly early. I could hear Anil shuffling around the yurt like a ninja with a kettle. After a few more minutes of pretending, I decided to face the day. It was 5:30 a.m. – a time usually reserved for owls and overachievers. Anil, ever the early bird and “unofficial camp barista”, whipped up tea for the four of us. We sipped and chatted about everything and nothing, while slowly gearing up for the return trip.

Jonathan had informed us that breakfast would be served at 8:30 sharp, so we freshened up, cleaned the yurt, and began the great packing ritual. The highlight of the packing? A heroic stash of leftover barbecued chicken and assorted snacks. Sai, ever resourceful, raided the inn for cling film and transformed into the Chicken Distribution Minister, ensuring every hiker got their fair share of smoky goodness.

Breakfast and Goodbye

At exactly 8:30, breakfast was served – a classic English spread. Personally, I love a good English breakfast: hearty, varied, and surprisingly health-friendly if you squint hard enough. Some of our crews were sceptical at first, but once the plates landed, forks flew, and doubts vanished. To be fair, we hadn’t had much “solid” food the previous day – just sandwiches, fruits, nuts, and barbecue. People were hungry, and the complimentary breakfast tasted like victory.

We wrapped up with a group photo, taken by a cheerful lady mid-bite but gracious enough to play photographer. With bellies full and spirits high, we loaded into our cars and began the journey back to Liverpool. The return trip had a mellow vibe. The laughter was softer, the playlist gentler, and the mood tinged with that bittersweet feeling that only comes after a great trip.

Sai floated the idea of another adventure next quarter. Someone else said, “Why wait? Let’s do next month!” Clearly, we were all ready for a sequel before the credits had even rolled. Car 1, piloted by the ever-reliable Dr Nithin, dropped us off at my place. It was Saturday, and family plans awaited, so the group dispersed faster than leftover barbecued chicken at midnight.

And that left me thinking… when’s the next one?