That boy will go far – for beer
By Phil Mellows
It was nice to see the other day, via a post by intrepid pubs blogger Retired Martin, that the Tan Hill Inn in North Yorkshire, made famous in the Eighties by celebrity farmer Ted Moult’s double glazing advert, is still going strong after some uncertain times. Still, it brought a psychosomatic twinge to my knees as I recalled my last visit to the highest pub in Britain.
I had resolved to intercept a friend who was doing Wainwright’s Coast to Coast walk and thought it might be a nice idea to walk to the Tan Hill Inn, pictured, and spend the night before meeting her. I’d previously driven there but thought I ought to do it properly.
So I got off the train at Kirkby Stephen just after 2pm and started walking. A dozen miles. If I got a wiggle on I reckoned I should be there by dinnertime. Except I got lost. I’ve no idea how far I walked but it took me about eight hours. At least I had time for a pint before closing.
I was up early next morning to join my friend on the next leg of her trek, but halfway to Reeth my knees went. My diversion to the pub must have done for both of them. I was dumped at a phone box and my companion skipped gaily away while I waited for a cab. I’m not sure my knees have ever fully recovered.
Why do we put ourselves through this? I blame beer.
People will go a long way for a pint in the pub. I’ve already mentioned here the Old Forge at Inverie, a 17-mile walk from the nearest road. I took the ferry when I went. Easier on the knees but still there’s that sense of adventure and discovery in travelling to a remote destination – especially when there’s a beer waiting for you at the end of it. Somehow it always tastes better.
Another pub I was pleased to get to after a long walk is the Wasdale Head Inn, which is in a quiet corner or the Lake District at the bottom of Scafell Pike, England’s highest mountain.
I’ve also made it to the Old Sailors at Pwllgwaelod in Pembrokeshire. It’s right on the beach at the bottom of a steep cliff, a spectacular spot.
Wales seems to specialise in this kind of thing. Allegedly the oldest pub in the country, the Skirrid Inn is in the Bannau, the mountain range formerly known as the Brecon Beacons, and is best approached by the Offa’s Dyke path.
At the other end of Wales, the Ty Coch Inn at Porthdinllaen is only accessible to non-residents by foot, at the end of a sandy promontory sticking out into the Irish Sea.
The Pilchard Inn I’ve yet to visit. It’s a 700-year-old pub on Burgh Island, off the coast of Devon. Get the tides wrong and you could be stranded here. Which would be a terrible thing to happen.
Photo: Rainbow over Tan Hill Inn © ejwwest/Creative Commons