The famously grumpy outdoors writer Alfred Wainwright, unsurprisingly, wasn’t too keen on the idea of the Yorkshire Three Peaks challenge. “Some participants have chosen to regard the walk as a race,” he wrote, “and this is to be greatly regretted; walking is a pleasure to be enjoyed in comfort.” With the days still short at this time of year, Dave and I take his advice and split the route over two days. Going further against the grain, many tackle it anti-clockwise, starting with Pen-y-ghent, but with today’s wind direction we opt to begin with an ascent of Ingleborough.

“Pen-y-ghent rises out of the moorland like a surfacing submarine – sudden, dark, and slightly improbable.”

Leaving the village past the railway station – with its potted plants and cheerfully red-painted bridge – it’s not long before we’re among a maze of channels cut through pale grey rock. This is limestone pavement, common across the Dales, formed as slightly acidic rainwater slowly dissolves exposed stone. Over thousands of years it exploits natural cracks, widening them into deep fissures known as grykes, while leaving the flat blocks between them – clints – standing proud. The result is a fractured, gridded landscape that looks almost man-made, like the foundations of some ancient settlement.

As we climb steadily up the northern side of Ingleborough, skylarks singing overhead and bleating lambs in every direction, we come across an elderly man leaning against an old stone ruin. After the usual exchange about the weather, he offers his ‘why’.

“It’s my birthday today,” he says, “so I thought I’d get up the first two peaks, stop for a couple of pints down in the valley, then catch the train back to the start.”

“That’s as good a way as any to mark a birthday,” Dave replies as we continue uphill.

While not high by some standards, Ingleborough – whose name is usually taken to mean “fort on the hill” – is prominent and well placed, and today’s clear weather gives us a sweeping panorama from its broad summit. Stone-walled valleys stretch in all directions, while the rest of the Dales rises in hazy, dark whalebacks. A good spot for a picnic – and the two crows loitering nearby seem well aware of it.

(Head to the bottom of this article for full details on the kit pictured above). 

Thick stone slabs lead from the summit all the way down into the valley. Much of the route is paved like this – the sheer number of boots passing through, combined with the fragility of the ground, makes it necessary. As much as 600 tonnes of aggregate can be needed to maintain a single mile of path.

The valley between Ingleborough and Whernside offers a rare chance to refuel. There’s the Old Hill Inn at Chapel-le-Dale, once a resting place for drovers and reputedly visited more than once by Sir Winston Churchill. There’s also Philpin Farm, with a café in the high season and vending machines the rest of the year.

Whernside might be the highest of the three peaks, but it’s arguably the least distinctive, forming a long, broad ridge running south to north. Its name, first recorded in 1208 as Querneside, is Old English in origin, referring to the hard stone on its summit, once used for making quern stones – millstones for grinding corn.

A steady climb leads to the top – a Yorkshire peak whose summit strays just over the Cumbrian border. We pause, looking west towards a gently shimmering Morecambe Bay and, further north, the distant, pointed fells of the Lake District silhouetted in the haze.

Our day finishes at Ribblehead Viaduct – perfectly timed to watch the sun set behind its 24 arches as the final trains of the day pass overhead before disappearing into the darkness of Blea Moor.