I had hung back to make sure nobody was lost from the rear of the group which was at this stage stretched out over about a quarter of a mile. A blast of the whistle caused the front, which had continued down towards Malham Cove, to pause briefly, but not even for long enough for the back marker to come level with me. I decided that they were (allegedly) intelligent adults and could probably be left to knit their own fog. I just hoped they would all have the sense to turn right at the edge of the cove and not attempt a direct descent.

Although the day was mild and bright, there had been recent rain, and the ground was damp and in places muddy. The path led down into a rocky defile and became stony underfoot. Progress slowed as we slithered and tottered over the slippery rock. Worn smooth by the passage of countless feet, it was now rendered friction free by the application of damp earth. The path levelled out, passing caves on the left-hand wall opposite, then rounded a shoulder to drop steeply to the next level down. Here I was able to see the whole group from above. No apparent losses at this stage.

Continuing down between the walls we eventually came out on the limestone pavement at the top of Malham Cove. About half the group was resting here, having sandwiches and drinks and admiring the view. No sign of the others, but I was told they had gone off to the right. A party was climbing an impossible-looking bolted overhang in the centre of the middle tier. Two more pairs were on slightly less ridiculous routes on the top tier.

Leaving folk to their sandwiches I set off in search of the others, and the pub. Close to the path someone was top-roping his first climb, having some difficulty in getting off the ground. Not wanting to put him off, I didn’t stand and make helpful observations. English limestone is not in any case my speciality.

In the bottom of the cove I could see yet more activity on the bottom tier, but no sign of the rest of our party. I was joined by a few from the top and we strolled down into the village. We found some of them at the first pub and I set about some beer and a steak pie. Sandra came across from the other pub. She had walked round the tarn and then driven down to the village. Andy F appeared, to my surprise. Banned from walking because of his knee, he had nonetheless driven out to join us for lunch. Ian and Helen had also joined us and were at the other pub. That made 34, including dogs and real people.

With a view to arranging a departure time I went across to the other pub. Diane was worried that not everyone would be up to the initial scramble in Goredale Scar. Chenda said she knew an alternative route and would be taking herself and those of a like mind along it. Sandra offered lifts. We decided to move at two, which left time for another pint.

We set off downstream and after a couple of hundred yards turned left up the side of another stream. This led us into a wooded valley and to a 15-foot waterfall with a plunge pool beneath. This was Janet’s Foss. We watched while Roy made his way across the lip of the pool to the other side then started up the rock alongside the fall. This being just the sort of wet, slippery rock I nowadays avoid, I was quite content to stand with the others and watch, camera ready to get that airborne shot followed by the splash-down. It didn’t get taken, although by the time he rejoined us he was pretty damp.

A short stretch of road brought us to an old bridge and a kiosk. From here Chenda’s alternative route returned to the Cove. After a pause for ice-creams (as if the sticky toffee puddings had been insufficient) we set off for Goredale Scar. At the gate we were all lined up so Sandra could take a group photo, then made our way into the lower part of the gorge. On seeing the scramble about 12 decided this was not for them and accompanied Chenda. The rest of us walked up to join the queue. I pointed out to Joe a line of bolts running up the side-wall of the gorge. The rock at this point was about 10° the wrong side of vertical, running up for 30 feet before easing off to a mere 5°. No sign of a rest anywhere. Precious little by way of holds, for that matter.

The rock step itself was pretty straightforward, though I understand why those with a problem over heights might wish to avoid it. The section of gorge above the step is magnificent. The walls tower above seemingly on all sides. To the right is a 150 foot waterfall, flowing out from under a dramatic rock arch. The path climbs to the left, with the occasional difficulty and route-finding problem. It was here that a few went astray, turning directly up a scree-shoot instead of traversing below a small buttress to an easier ascent alongside the side wall. The exit from the top of the scree-shoot was quite tricky. There was a moment of doubt for one of the party but this was overcome with a little encouragement.

After this last obstacle there was another rest stop. Roy found another pinnacle to be photographed on top of. I found some easy moves on a boulder. Eventually we were all ready and moved off, climbing easy grass terraces to come clear of the gorge, then across fields with the occasional rocky outcrop. Without further incident we came to the road and identified our position on the map. Another 600 yards along the road and we were back at the cars.