Alf Wight mentions a walk around Semerwater in The book “James Herriot’s Yorkshire”. In it he says, “..its best done, no doubt, when the sun is shining.” So, I chose a summers day and set off to follow his footsteps around Semerwater…..

I started at Bainbridge, just as Alf suggested. Bainbridge that doesn’t get much of a mention in the guide books, sitting like a quiet child between its two bigger siblings, Leyburn and Hawes. Its slight obscurity is a shame really because it’s a quaint little village with a lot of history including the site of a former Roman Fort to the east of the village. In readiness for my walk I parked alongside the village green which is a central feature of the village.  In the middle of the green I was fascinated to see a set of ancient stocks which were used in years past to hold local miscreants while they were pelted by rotten vegetables – or worse.

The village green has been a centre point for the village for hundreds of years and was used for holding fairs, markets and enclosing cattle. On the south side of the green there is an old stone school building jutting onto the green – Bainbridge old school.

Behind the old school is Cam High Road which was my starting point for the walk.  Immediately on the right I passed the Temperance Hall where the founder of the Quaker movement, George Fox, preached. More on him and the Quakers later.  The road continued out of the village, with no suggestion of where it was leading to, curving as it steadily rose.  After a while the road turned to the left and at that point a long ancient Roman road could be seen to the right, striking a line up towards Wether Fell. I stopped to admire how the Romans managed to build these arrow straight roads across such rugged territory.

The road continued rising towards Countersett and after passing a derelict barn on the left I could see the river Bain down below me on the left, snaking its way back to Bainbridge. Very soon after that there were teasing glimpses of Semerwater through the trees ahead. The sign for Countersett village soon appeared and then after a short incline I came across a small pull-in with Countersett Hall set below me on the right-hand side. This hall was the home of a well known local Quaker called Richard Robinson and it is recorded that the founder of the Quakers, George Fox, visited here and stayed in the room above the porch. The Quaker movement clearly had deep seated roots in this area.

A little further on, over the brow of the hill, a lane dips down to the lake. And it was here that the glorious panorama of Semerwater opened out before me.

By now some ominous clouds were forming overhead which I was keeping a watchful eye on as I sat down on a nearby bench to take in the view. Semerwater was nestled below me surrounded by a patchwork of green meadows spilling down from the hills. The meadows were all stitched together by long threads of stone walling. The whole scene exuded loveliness and calm.

I could have taken a shorter walk by going down the hill to explore the lake and returning to Bainbridge using a footpath alongside the river Bain. But I wanted to follow the route right around the lake that Alf mentioned in his book and that meant following the road towards Marsett. There are several village names ending in “-sett” around the lake. It is a Norse word for a Shieling – a primitive form of hut that the earliest farmers lived in. I walked on, the lake below me on the left with more green meadows sweeping down to the shoreline. I passed a farm called Carr End Farm, this is former home of another eminent Quaker family.  I was beginning to understand the appeal that this place had for the Quakers. Peaceful, calm and devoid of any influence from the world outside.

By now the lake had given way to a large flat area with a number of barns scattered across it. Haymaking had been, and still is, an important activity in these parts.

The entrance to Marsett soon appeared by an old stone bridge. As I crossed the bridge the scene that met me on the other side was one of an ancient, almost medieval, village.  

The village is a huddle of farm buildings and houses set around a green where a few cows were grazing. One of them looked at me with casual interest – a curious interruption to its day. The only sign of the modern world I could see was a distinctive Red telephone box set on the edge of the green. I imagine there was a time when this phone box was the villages only contact with the outside world. Time just seemed to have stopped still in Marsett.  Nothing stirred. The ancient haylofts were closed and a couple lonely farm implements sat silently where their days work had finished.

I turned left and followed a cart track alongside the stream as it trickled its way along the pebbly riverbed. This stream is called Marsett Beck and the cart track alongside it ‘Busk Lane’.

After a while the lane branched off to the right, away from the river, and shortly afterwards a prominent barn appeared on the right-hand side set back in a meadow. This is Raydale Barn – available to hire for those that want to experience living ‘off-grid’ and escape todays topsy-turvy world for a while.

The idea of staying there forever held a very strong appeal to me as I took in the timeless scene of this solitary barn. But reality pulled me back along the track until I reached a ford crossing another stream called ‘Raydale Beck’.

Rather than wade across the ford I found a small footbridge which allowed be to carry on with dry feet. A little further on another stream appeared, this time it was Cragdale Beck. Just before reaching the stream I veered off the track to my left and crossed another footbridge over the beck. The path then set off across some meadows in the direction of the lake with the small village of Stalling Busk to my right.

The footpath crossed several meadows, squeezing through gaps in the stone walls and led me to something unexpected. A lonely abandoned church surrounded by graveyard full of old headstones. The headstones all stood at crooked angles with some lying flat as if a giant game of dominos had taken place. Each gravestone a monument to the kind of hard Dales lives described by Alf in his books. It was utterly silent here, with Semerwater glimmering in the background.

An information plaque on the church entrance explained that it was built in the 1700’s or earlier but replaced by a more modern church in Stalling Busk in 1908-9.  The church was then left to decay but continued to be used as a burial ground for local people of which there are some 750  buried here.  Many of the graves displayed common Dales names straight out of the James Herriot stories; Alderson, Calvert, Metcalfe, all typical dalesfolk names. Alf mentions in his books how he attended cases on nearby farms, their family names now carved on the headstones.

I sat on a bench in the churchyard and presided over these forgotten Dales folk for a while with the lake silently glimmering in the background. It didn’t feel sombre in the least – just utterly peaceful with only the whisper of a soft breeze to break the silence.

Soon it was time to press on again. I had to leave this hidden jewel behind and follow the footpath onwards to meet the edge of Semerwater. The view of the lake as I left the chapel ruins behind was simply beautiful. I really enjoyed this part, studying the lake closely from the path which wiggled its way down towards the lake.

As I got close to the shore some elegant looking ducks were dabbing around on the shoreline as if it were their own private lake. Alf described Semerwater as portentous. But today Semerwater was just serene and calm with hardly a ripple, its mirror like surface reflecting a sky dappled with clouds.  A pair of fisherman in waders at the shoreline and a distant lonely kayak were the only sign of activity.  No jet-skis, no sunbathers, no buildings, no cars, no nothing. Semerwater today was just how I like things.

The path continued along the shore through some trees to emerge onto more meadows with just a few inquisitive sheep for company as I wandered on. The footpath led me on through a gate and onto the road near Low Blean Farm. Here, at the entrance, car parking tickets are sold for the car park by the lake. The lakeside car park was a bit further on where I immediately caught sight of a huge imposing rock called the Carlow stone. There were two others nearer the shore called the Mermaid stones.

These rocks were left when the glaciers retreated after the ice age around 17,000 years ago and have been there ever since. I laid my hand on the Carlow stone and thought about the vast lengths of time since these rocks were deposited here. It struck me then that we are only here for such a tiny sliver of time. A sobering thought, but at least today I felt like I was making good use of the tiny slice allotted to me. After a short rest sitting on the seat where Turner the famous artist painted Semerwater, I set off again on the way back to Bainbridge.

I followed the road along the lake shore to the bridge but instead of following it up the hill to where I had sat earlier, I went through the stile on the right just before the bridge and followed the 2 mile footpath back to Bainbridge.

The path follows the curves of the River Bain as it meanders its way on to Bainbridge taking water from the northern end of Semerwater into the River Ure which flows along Wensleydale.  There is something mesmerising about walking alongside a river. The soft murmur of the water and the lush green banks keeping me company as the landscape rolled pastin sl ow motion.  After about 20 minutes the footpath separated from the river and started to rise up Braken Hill. As I climbed the hill I glanced back over my shoulder to take one last look at Semerwater and say my goodbyes.

Striding forwards it was now time to say hello again to Wensleydale and all the delights that it holds. Once over the brow of the hill I passed a large Shepfold – a reminder that in winter it can be quite bleak in these parts with sheep needing shelter from the bitter wind and snow. But there was none of that today, just lush green grass bathed in warm sunshine.

The path then took me parallel to the road leading from Bainbridge to Stalling Busk. From here I could look down on the river Bain as it entered Bainbridge and, on a hill to the right, the site of the old Roman Fort. 

The footpath finally emerged onto the A684 as it dipped into Bainbridge and revealed one further surprise; from the bridge over the river Bain I could see the unusual sight of the River Bain Hydro generator. It is basically a large Archimedes screw through which water flows to generate electricity.  Funded by villagers, the system generates enough power for the whole village when the river is in full flow.

On the other side of the bridge I passed a quaint butchers shop tucked into a nook by the bridge and then immediately ahead the village green appeared where I had started out earlier. Right on cue, there on the left, was Corn Mill Tea room which beckoned me in through its door. I sat with a feeling of warm satisfaction, a cup of tea and slice of cake to reflect on another lovely walk inspired by James Herriot. I think he would have enjoyed this day.

If you fancy doing this easy walk it took about 4 1/2 hours at a leisurely pace. You could half this time by walking down the hill when you get to Countersett and cut out the walk around the lake. Or, you could drive to the lakeside car park and just walk around the lake which will take just a couple hours. Whichever you choose, you will enjoy a pleasant walk in this hidden part of ‘James Herriot’s Yorkshire’.