I've never yearned to climb Everest, nor follow the Amazon, but I’ve always fancied seeing Blow Gill with my own eyes, a small but fabled waterfall hiding deep in our Hambleton Hills.

I’ve never yearned to climb Everest, nor follow the Amazon, but I’ve always fancied seeing Blow Gill with my own eyes, a small but fabled waterfall hiding deep in our Hambleton Hills. So, one gentle autumn morning, sun shining, I made my way there. Two hours cycling up hill and down dale brought me to Hawnby, with its stone bridge, leaping trout and dog snout apple tree. And then I was wheeling across the empty moors, accompanied only by the occasional young birch tree growing on Iron Age earthworks, and the chunter of grouse feeding in the heather.

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