Saturday 23rd December, 10:41am
As Daddy BRAPA fills up with petrol at the Wensleydale Garage & Shop (no dog waste, no nappies), I sit there considering just how it is that I'm FORCED to return to the Yorkshire Dales for yet more ticks!
I mean, living in North Yorkshire, I consider myself a bit of a completist when it comes to this super difficult county. And it isn't like I can think of one single micropub or brewery tap that has sprung up here in recent years. Yet the GBG keeps dragging me back, finding solid ancient inns to include, previously absent for decades.
And here's the really fun part, they are all GOOD. And X/Twitter react positively to them. Everyone has stayed overnight and had at least three luncheons and an anecdote involving a stray lamb or a dropped plate of scampi. Makes me feel such a novice.
Black Bull, Middleham (2572 / 4730)
I'm always half expecting dining dross or at least something a bit twee, but not even that is true of the Dales GBG pubs of late. This beauty was the perfect example of an unpretentious bazinga of a pub in the shadow of a castle and Richard III's third rate ghost, no doubt packed in summer, so 11am on 23rd December is perhaps the perfect time to visit. The young couple in charge, to those of you familiar with 70's Swedish westerns (ok, just me) are reminiscent of a youthful Max von Sydow / Liv Ullman. Making a go of a new life in these remote climes. He chops the wood out back, she pulls the pints and stokes the woodburner. Dad does a lot of cooing, and who can blame him? The beer too, Wen-Sleigh d'ale (geddit?), was in top condition. I may have sat outside here briefly with sister BRAPA for half a cloudy Theakston's Black Bull in 2006, but best gloss over that. This was the day I truly ticked it.
There are times in BRAPA (though it is rare) when I feel a pang of guilt about my chauffeuring demands. That Polish taxi driver in Porthallow, RetiredMartin in the Belchamps, Daddy BRAPA at the Anchor Anchor in Shropshire or at the Tan Hill Inn, and poor Daddy BRAPA again today.
Middleham felt like downtown Los Angeles by the time we'd got a few miles further west! The rain now lashing sideways, wind making the car shake, on inhospitable roads. The only good news being no other cars were mad enough to be out in this, we saw virtually no one! We stop so I can have a wee and a sheep bleats judgily.
Starbotton had felt like a killer drive two summer's back, but Litton (close by as the crow flies) felt another world away, with this horseshoe shaped road taking forever to get around. Let us just say I've never been more relieved to see a pub open since Morwenstow.
Queen's Arms, Litton (2573 / 4731)
It is unsurprisingly a bit of a throwback in the main bar, unspoilt stone-clad rustic, although there is a restaurant to the left which is thankfully out of sight, out of mind. The two boss ladies seem friendly in a quiet, chuckling way. One peers at Colin like he's an alien life form, I thought guest cauliflowers would be compulsory in a back of beyond place like Litton. There is a brewery out the back called 'Lamb' but it isn't attached to the pub, literally or metaphorically. The Pale is certainly 'of the terroir' (thanks Wickingman!) tasting of farm, soil, cows and fresh rainwater (in a good way). We have pride of place next to the fire, the pub is empty when we arrive, busy by the time we leave. We have to turn our faces and laugh into the flames when a posh lady calls for one of her two sons, Barnaby, to open the door so Mummy can take her prosecco through to the restaurant. When the husband returns later for a blokey pint, other blokey blokes now gathered around the bar, he refuses to call Barnaby by name. I feel his pain, I love Midsomer Murders as much as the next man or woman but this felt a step too far. Great place, but Daddy B. couldn't relax just yet with all this driving in front of him.
Relatively speaking, our next stop felt like a step back towards civilisation, and was half way to Masham where our day would finish.
This Nidderdale (the most underrated of all Dales?) village is situated atop a big 'ill, and the pub is up a steep driveway beyond that. We parked outside an abandoned cottage, and marched up. Needed a leg stretch after two hour long car journeys!
Crown Hotel, Middlesmoor (2574 / 4732)
This majestic multi-roomed former shooting lodge had the grandeur of a Brunning & Price, but without Brunning & Price having come along to fuck it up. Look, I don't dislike Brunning & Price pubs as a rule, but you know what I mean don't you? It smelt deliciously old, like stale French library books. With the roads as they were, Dad had been very disciplined drinks wise so far, with a J20 and a coffee, and as he nips off to the loo, asks me to enquire on the availability of alcohol free/low alcohol beers. I can tell the barmaid is a 'character', when she replies, "well the Black Sheep Bitter is only 3.8%" I tell her that isn't exactly what I meant and get Dad a colour of J20 he doesn't normally have. Before I can leave the bar, another barmaid arrives, having heard our chat, and comments they actually have Guinness Zero and an alcohol free lager. "Oh well, you live and learn, maybe next time!" chirps barmaid 1. Incredible scenes. Then a huge thump thump thump down a distant corridor and I'm about to comment to Dad that the mice around here must be fat bastards when a wedding party who've stayed the night start coming through with balloons, flowers and baskets. Dad makes a note that he could bring Mummy BRAPA here as part of a walking holiday, and although my Bosun's Jingle Bell ale was the weakest quality today, still decent enough. Top experience.
The drive to Masham didn't seem too bad considering what had gone before, although a prize to me for most stupid question of the day when I turn to the Dadster and say ....
"How on earth does a village like Masham get so many pubs in the GBG?"
Like I'd never heard of Black Sheep or Theakstons!
Oh dear.
Both pubs are a 30 second walk from where we park, and each other. Which is nice.
Bruce Arms, Masham (2575 / 4733)
Might not be a huge surprise from the above photo but this was today's weakest pub, by quite some margin. But there were positives to be had. Good room temperature. Cheerful lady in charge. And the time felt right for an Old Peculiar. And whilst it wouldn't be in my top three OP's of the year (sad for Masham), it had a kick which made Dad blurry, see below.
Bay Horse, Masham (2576 / 4734)
But just across the way, as the sun sets over the hills, we end on a high at this motivated happy throb hole. Everyone has a dog, but they were all very good well behaved boys, not twogs. One melts in front of the fire like chocolate, and then I'm introduced to a Wispa(!), this rescue dog who looks like a right fighting machine Bully Extra Large Version 3.1, but appearances are deceptive in this case cos he's a lovable contender for BRAPA Pub Pet of the Year, which I ultimately forgot to award, but it definitely wasn't that evil cat from Rushden. And the Semer Water drank with surprising conviction having just had the OP. Better quality beer in here. Today had easily been my best December day out in what had been a difficult month.
And then it was home to York for Christmas for 58 cans of various 10% Vocations.
Join me next time (probably Sunday, I'm catching up well) when I tell you about the day I went to Melton Mowbray with mixed results!
Si
