Lost on the Moor: Or, How Our Walk Became a Wildlife Survey

6th June 2025

When we booked a relaxing stay at a holiday cottage in Skipton, the idea was to enjoy gentle walks, scenic views, and perhaps the odd pub lunch where the most dangerous thing on the menu was a questionable scotch egg.

We didn’t set out to become amateur ecologists. And yet, here we are.

It all started with an innocent suggestion from the guest welcome folder: “Why not enjoy a walk across Barden Moor for stunning views and fresh air?” It sounded idyllic. Fresh air! Views! Possibly a picnic! So we packed sandwiches, a flask of tea, two overconfident OS maps, and a level of optimism only seen in people who’ve never tried to follow a Yorkshire footpath sign during bracken season.

The first hour was glorious. Skylarks were singing. Sheep were doing whatever it is sheep do. The sun was out (sort of), and so was our sense of adventure. We followed a well-marked trail, even spotting a curlew (we know this because one of us Googled “sad-sounding bird with a long beak”). Nature was blooming, and we were practically one with it.

Then came the turning point. Or rather, the lack of one.

According to the map, we should have reached a stile. Instead, we reached a thistle the size of a Shetland pony and what might have been a grouse judging us from a rock. Still, undeterred, we pressed on — if “pressing on” includes climbing through a gorse bush, skirting a suspiciously boggy patch, and startling an entire family of voles who clearly weren’t expecting guests.

At some point – and it’s hard to say exactly when – our peaceful moorland walk transformed into an impromptu wildlife survey. We recorded (mentally, not officially):

• 3 buzzards
• 17 sheep (possibly the same one repeatedly)
• 1 hare doing an impressive Usain Bolt impression
• Several aggressive midges
• And one extremely irate lapwing that may now hold a personal grudge

We were officially off-piste. The OS map was flapping uselessly in the wind, one of us had tea-soaked trousers (don’t ask), and the sandwiches had mysteriously vanished, possibly claimed by a passing stoat.

By the time we found a signpost (which had fallen over and was being used as a sheep scratching post), we were exhausted, slightly damp, and oddly thrilled. We eventually made it back to the car, five miles longer than planned, ten species richer, and with a newfound respect for the hardy creatures that call the moors home — especially the ones that cackle when you trip over a heather clump.

So yes, we got lost. But we also discovered. And if you’re staying at a holiday cottage in Skipton, we highly recommend getting a little lost on the moor. Just maybe take a compass. And a nature guide. And possibly a flare gun.