Becking Pleasures

by W. D. Clayton

At one time or other, most mountaineers have indulged in a mild form of Becking, usually at the end of a hard day on the hills when wet through: sloshing through streams cannot then make any appreciable difference to the water content of boots or clothing. This state, if conditions are mild, gives most people a guilty sense of light hearted enjoyment, but, if in company, this is not usually admitted and only betrays itself by an unnecessary prolongation of the crossing of a stream and an emphatic clumping of waterfilled boots for the next hundred yards or so.

The guilty feeling has been instilled in the majority of us from the days of early childhood, when the basic pleasure of stamping through puddles of water and getting shoes and clothing soaking wet, was met by swift parental displeasure and rebuke. Gradually other forms of socially acceptable play were encouraged and getting wet-through deliberately was only condoned when in a swimming costume or in the bath. Thus one of the most enjoyable sensations, that of intentionally getting wet-through, fully clothed, is lost forever to the mass of people.

British mountaineers, of course, through the fortunate vagaries of the climate, have frequent opportunities to reassess the position and to those who feel stirrings of pleasure when wet-through I recommend ‘becking’ or ‘beck-bottoming’ as it is called by one of our kindred clubs.

Becking, in its broad definition, involves following up, or down, a mountain stream contained within high gully walls and overcoming all obstacles encountered, such as waterfalls and deep pools, by climbing and swimming, without leaving the main stream passage. This definition will no doubt be disputed by some whose aim seems to be to follow a gorge through at stream level while actually trying to keep dry: this is of course a heresy and its adherents should be encouraged to leave the gorges and gills to the connoisseur.

Unfortunately good sections of mountain streams, sufficiently long and deep and enclosed by steep rock walls, are comparatively rare south of Scotland and the Scottish ones seen, with one or two notable exceptions, have only been viewed in near arctic conditions when the observing party did not feel justified in self indulgence. Some choice becking trips have taken place during various club meets over the last few years, as well as one or two private ventures. Although not all chronicled, the following suggestions will give some guidance to beginners and perhaps some warning to other members to avoid the small nucleus of enthusiasts within the club.

One of the finest introductions to the sport is the upstream route through Hell Gill, which is situated three miles north of the Moorcock on the right-hand side of the Mallerstang road. A rough track crosses the railway and proceeds to a semi-derelict farmhouse. Cars may be left at this point, together with spare clothing, towels and other revivalist trappings. The start of the limestone gorge section is immediately behind the shippon by the stream. After the first small waterfall the walls immediately close in and for the whole length of the gorge remain vertical-to-overhanging and the gorge is narrow enough to be jumped across at one or two places. The stream gradually becomes deeper and more constricted, with undercut walls the further one proceeds. The crux is a circular pool, about twenty feet deep, with smooth undercut walls and a water shute at the head, down which all the stream is funnelled. The move up the shute is difficult at any time and virtually impossible if the stream is anything above normal flow. It involves a combination of fast swimming on the approach, bold take-off out of the water and total indifference to epidermic erosion. It is claimed that useful tips can be gleaned by watching seals, dolphins or salmon. A party of members in May 1971 tried the expedient of standing on one another’s shoulders but gave up when the third ‘tier’ sank beneath the surface. The water shute was eventually overcome by one of the club’s fitter pot-holers who conjured just enough friction for the purpose. He then lowered a length of waist-line to help the other members of the party who were still thrashing round the pool, trying to keep their heads above water, despite wearing boots. Just beyond this point the gorge ends and the stream emerges on the open fellside where one can then walk down to the start, or, better still, turn about and retrace the whole route. This has the advantage of keeping one out of the wind until the last possible minute.

Another good expedition is in the Nidderdale area and involves following How Stean beck upstream first through the tourist section of the gorge and then through a long canallike section ending in a fairly high waterfall, giving a total of one and a half miles. On the August Meet in 1971 a party of eight members were inveigled into undertaking this trip. Incidently this is the highest number ever persuaded to take part in one of these sessions and must mark either an all-time high (or low) of club members’ judgement and commonsense. At the start, we were accosted by the custodian of the tourist section, who demanded five pence per head before proceeding further. He was entirely deaf to our arguments that we were not availing ourselves of his carefully constructed scenic paths and walkways. Only the Meet Leader’s assurance that he would be paid on our return pacified him. After a few waist-deep pools and small waterfalls the tourist section was left behind and the party was confronted by the first deep part of the gorge. Here R. H., who had naively rolled up his climbing breeches, was suddenly aware that he was going to get more than his boots and socks wet. A guest also found that conventional swimming strokes are of less avail when fully clothed and wearing heavy boots. The remainder of the party were intrigued to see how far he managed to swim with the top of his head a constant one foot below the surface, before finally reaching shallow water and surfacing. He did not appear to relish Becking and on reaching the top of the gorge disappeared and has not been seen on a Meet since. The end of the gorge is again the crux, with a ten foot waterfall, almost un-climbable, even with the help of a rope and passed only by a tricky stomach traverse. How Stean Gorge to be in prime condition needs to be in half-flood, as one or two of the lower pools are apt to be rather placid in the summer and the water needs a bit of ‘Bant’ behind it on the waterfalls to ensure a sustained trip.

In the Lake District, as is only fitting, Becking involves a larger degree of climbing skill. The club is very fortunate in this respect as within a couple of miles of Low Hall Garth is Tilberthwaite Gill. This is a most enjoyable climb, mine and becking outing, again with the crux at the very end. Following the path up on the left-hand side of the gill, the start is where the stream makes an abrupt right-hand turn between high vegetated cliffs. From this point on, the stream bed is followed up through a series of deep pools and high waterfalls, climbed mainly on the right-hand walls. The gill then unfortunately opens out slightly before the junction with a stream entering from the left. Just beyond this point is the final waterfall, giving a fine, wet climb of about seventy-five feet of very difficult to severe standard, depending on the volume of water descending. If you cannot get up you can always claim that the stream was in flood. Below the waterfall, for the pot-holing element, there is the entrance to a quite extensive mining level leading off from water level and connected by means of aven like rifts with the upper workings. From the top of the last pitch it is possible to return direct to the club hut in about ten minutes and the luxury of a fire and hot shower, so it is worth an initial walk to Tilberthwaite instead of driving round.

Piers Gill, an early classic gully climb, is also to all intents a becking trip, especially if no attempt is made to avoid the stream bed. It has been described in a kindred club journal as an ideal trip, for a large jolly climbing party in summer, a description it is hard to better. This trip has been thoroughly enjoyed by a Y.R.C. party twice in the last three September Joint Meets at R.L.H. On both occasions it was just possible to overcome the volume of water over the crux waterfall pitch although on the last one this did involve a timely shoulder, from the cave immediately under the fall, to enable the leader to stem the downward thrust of the stream.

Again, on this occasion, a newly-joined member was persuaded to join a party of four including one Rucksack Club member. After all the others had waded through the initial pool and climbed the first small waterfall, he mentioned that his rucksack contained all the food, and how should he keep it dry? He was invited to climb up the side of the fell, hand over the rucksack, return to the bottom, wade the pool and climb the centre of the fall. This he did, in a trance-like state, only reviving on contact with the extremely cold water. A wild look came into his eye and he was last seen soloing an extremely unpleasant route up the containing wall of Piers Gill. A valiant effort, but he will never make a confirmed Becker. He has recently taken up a job in the United States, purely for business reasons, we are given to understand.

In Derbyshire, becking is a matter of improvisation and the rules must be bent considerably to ensure a good day’s outing, as with one exception there are no true gorges worth mentioning. An original crossing of Bleaklow and Howden Moors from the Snake Inn to the Flouch Inn was contrived in the summer of 1972. The idea was not to take one’s feet out of a stream or water the whole way. A start was made up Lady Clough stream, then by way of the long culvert under the road and so up Birchin Clough which provided some fine waterfall pitches, although no depth of water was encountered. Some unusual antics were involved in finding out the deepest quagmires between the last grough out of Birchin Clough and the first slight feeder of Nether Reddale Clough. Going through the peat pools, instead of round them, seemed strange at first and against all carefully learned bog-trotting know-how. A brief interlude in the Alport soon washed all trace of peat from boots and six feet above the boots. A crossing via Ravens Clough to the river Westend followed with similar problems on the highest stretch, but no lack of wet peat. From the West-end, the route went via Upper Small Clough to the Upper Derwent, then over Howden Moors, following the feeder between Horse Stone and Crow Stones Edge to Near Cat Clough and so down to the Porter, and more waterfalls and deep pools. At this point the whole party was extremely clean, and extremely damp, and developing embryonic signs of gill growth. A mistake was made here of trying for perfection by following up a very dirty, small, overgrown channel through the plantation which ultimately disgorged us on the road opposite our objective but in what a state! It would have been better if we had taken the sporting finish and swum the length of Langsett Reservoir. One consolation, the crowded bar of the Flouch cleared like magic as we stood with our first pints. So did we when the Landlord smelt and saw the state we were in. We were shown the door with scant signs of hospitality and even denied the use of the old horse trough outside.

As an example of the superb possibilities of becking in Scotland, the following event occurred during the Club’s Whit-sun Meet in Glen Brittle some years ago. Two members, after a very prolonged two-day assault on the Skye Ridge traverse decided to treat the following Wednesday as a rest day and made tracks for the fleshpots of Portree. What optimism: the day was only saved from being a disappointment by a conducted tour round Talisker Distillery. Needless to say, the after effects required some dissipating on the return journey. A chance remembered remark about there being a deep gulley containing a fine underwater arch in the upper right-hand branch of the River Brittle led the two in question to park the car on the steep hill leading down to Glen Brittle and walk across to the old track which goes over to Sligachan. A little way up the river a fine round pool was found, about twenty feet deep, with a high waterfall at the head. After a swim the rocks at the side of the fall were climbed and a fine canyon section, containing very deep water, was followed upstream for about half a mile until the mythical underwater arch was clearly seen. A climb down the containing walls led to a stance immediately above the arch. The water was remarkably clear and a beautiful light green colour; typical snow melt water without the usual icy coldness. A very deep dive enabled both of them to pass beneath the arch and so downstream between gleaming white walls of rock which had the appearance almost of limestone, but in reality were water-smoothed granite. Progress was made with the minimum of effort, a deep or shallow course being maintained in the water by merely planing with the arms and fingers whilst passing beneath the containing walls which were undercut on the corners to a fantastic degree. We finally emerged at the head of the high waterfall overlooking the pool from which we had originally started. A magnificent trip and incidentally, the quickest way of sobering up either of the party has ever known.

For the enthusiastic becker one commodity he cannot get enough of in his chosen stream is water. The cry goes up, if only this waterfall was in spate, how much more demanding its ascent would be and how much more entertainment would be provided should one of your colleagues slip from the lip of the fall. This type of thinking eventually leads to the ultimate step taken in this sport—winter becking. Then all the streams are in flood condition and the faces of the party are indescribable on first contact with the basic element! Three Y.R.C. members were introduced to winter becking way back at a very wet Hill Inn Meet by a chance remark of Francis Falk-ingham of the Gritstone Club. He said Ling Gill should be quite a sight in full flood and the three in question went there and gaily set off up the side of the gill with the intention of climbing along the walls as far as possible without getting wet! The bottom of the gill was completely covered from wall to wall by a turgid brown flood and the air filled with the booming sound of the first waterfall. The first section was traversed with the party only getting wet to the knees and after a few minutes this was not unpleasant as we then could no longer feel our feet. At this stage a long branch was cut down to facilitate probing and to supply mutual support—with the inevitable result. After the initial shock, the party decided to carry on up the gill as once wet we had little to lose. Progress from here on was a matter of clawing our way along the walls, on handholds, with our feet occasionally touching the bottom. The last bit was a series of leaps from boulder to boulder. At the bridge we stripped off, wrung out our clothes, re-dressed and made record time to Gearstones, the Gritstone Club Hut, where luckily the stove was glowing cherry red. Winter becking certainly brings home knowledge of the am-ount of exposure each individual is capable of withstanding. In case the above sounds rather grim, the three involved spent nearly the whole time in hilarious laughter and it provides one of the most vivid and enjoyable memories—in retrospect. The sight of W.C.I.C. with an armpit bursting with cold water on grasping the top of the waterfall will remain an indelible memory.

Hell Gill has also been attempted as a winter becking trip, following the January Meet at the Marton Arms in 1974. Again the regulars took part together with two other members and a guest. Apart from nearly drowning one member, and another losing his boot in the bottom of the gorge, it was a good expedition. The guest proved an exception to the usual form by keeping up with the leaders right to the final pool. This was a seething cauldron of white water and there was no possibility of proceeding further. It will be interesting to see if the guest turns out again.

Finally, whether hard climber, walker or pot-holer, have a break from the rigours of your chosen sport and join us on a becking trip, preferably in winter. You can always recognise an enthusiastic becker by the look in his eye.