Striding out

Last Sunday morning we went walking along the River Wharfe from Burnsall, heading in the direction of Kettlewell.

It was a glorious sunny morning and we managed to set off early, before everyone else did.

The river looked wonderful. Some parts were smooth and glassy:

and in other places the water rushed and whirled:

The river's quite wide here and you would never think that, just a few miles downstream near Bolton Abbey, it almost turns on its side to flow through the Strid.

The Strid is so called because it looks as though you could cross it with just one stride. The whole river flows through that narrow gap in the rocks. (I took the photo below in winter, but it doesn't look very different in summer).

Many people have, of course, been tempted to jump it, and many, I suppose, have succeeded. But because of the spray the rocks on the far side are always slippery. Nobody has ever fallen in the Strid and survived, and if you look at the photos above you can see why - all that river flowing through that tiny gap. Under the water are caverns and holes and whirlpools, down and down - one slip and that's it.

The place fascinates me because of absolute starkness of the options. You're either on the other side, or you're dead - and that moment of the jump when you know you're not quite there, which so many people will have felt - it's the clear meaning of terror for me.