The muddy waters of the Nidd have always held a strange fascination for Bob Adams. Now he is finding out why by walking the river’s length. We last heard from him when he explored the stretch from Poppleton to Cattal. Today he heads from Cattal to Knaresborough, a distance of 12 miles

THIS was a day of saints and witches. In the Middle Ages if you went off to live in a cave you were either called a saint and venerated, or a witch and persecuted. I had the impression that Saint Robert of Knaresborough was probably a reluctant saint. He found a quiet cave by the river to be alone and people kept coming to him to be healed.

Mother Shipton found a cave but I don’t think she was persecuted. It is alleged (a lot of her history may have been made up for commercial purposes) that she predicted many important events, including the death of Cardinal Wolsey, the Civil War, the Great Fire of London, iron ships and motor cars. Her alleged prediction about the end of the world in 1881, I am pleased to say, passed without incident, although with global warming it may not be far away for us humans.

Back to the walk. On this occasion I made sure that I had my map. I caught the 10.15am from Poppleton to Cattal station. I then turned south down Rudgate (a Roman Road) to the village of Cattal, about a mile away. Cattal is not named after cattle, although it is pronounced that way. In fact it is named after a bend in the Nidd associated with wild cats. The bridge dates from 1800.

I then took the B road to Hunsingore and could see the church spire from miles away. Apart from occupying a hill the church was of little interest, and was locked, but the church in the next village, Cowthorpe, was a gem. I crossed the river over a footbridge and could just see the square tower peeping up over the corn.

Like Cattal, Cowthorpe has nothing to do with cows. It is in fact named after a person called Cola whose village it was. This place is still famous for an ancient old oak tree, purported to be the largest in England and sketched by JMW Turner. Sadly the tree is no more and was indeed in a sorry state in the 18th century when Turner got there.

St Michael’s Church was built in the 1450s. It has a 15th century Easter sepulchre and part of a brass memorial of its founder. The rest was stolen in 1855 to be broken up for scrap. Things don’t change.

For the next part of the walk I could not avoid taking roads. I was intending to sneak down to the river bank and follow it under the A1M but field boundaries and tracks had disappeared under intensive farming and there were several tractors at work in the field. I therefore crossed the motorway by Wetherby Lane and turned up the old Great North Road, now the A168.

You can still see evidence of the former dual carriageway on a track to its left. I must have driven up that road at great speed so often years ago after passing the old Wetherby roundabout.

I finally escaped the road and headed east past a place called ‘black stones’. Unfortunately I couldn’t see any but there was a black barn. I rejoined the river and headed towards Ribston Park.

The bridge over the Nidd at the entrance to the park is an 18th century masterpiece guarded by a lodge with a rampant lion and a goose on pedestals either side. The park was granted to the Knights Templar in 1217 and the existing hall was rebuilt by Henry Goodricke in the 1670s. It is now privately owned by the Dent family.

I hope they didn’t mind that I strayed from the official footpath to have my sandwich on the river bank. The river curves around the estate in three loops.

It was now only five miles to Knaresborough and all across country. I passed through High Wood and along the edge of Great Wood with the river in a valley to my left and past a woman walking several dogs from a kennel service. She herded them into a van with a logo I forgot.

A bird of prey performed little circles and sweeps overhead. I have it on good authority that this was a red kite.

When you walk like this across the English countryside you realize how much the landscape is dominated by the great estates. Just after passing Ribston Hall, Goldsborough Hall came into view. In fact they were neighbours. I wondered how they got on in the old days, whether the lady of the house popped across the two miles between their estates for a cup of tea.

The other thing I noticed was how much a river like the Nidd improves the landscape as it cuts through undulating land creating valleys and gorges. The most spectacular of these was soon to come, the Knaresborough Gorge.

I crossed the river across a rickety footbridge with a sign stating that it was at my own risk. This was really the only hazard of today’s walk apart from crossing the A658. Up over the industrial estate and down to Grimaldi Bridge skirting the Lido caravan park. I then entered the gorge and climbed down the steps to pay my respects to Saint Robert.

Saint Robert lived in a cave from 1180 until his death in 1216. The plaque informed me that he sought the reclusive life of a hermit, but the poor and sick flocked to him for physical and spiritual healing.

More notable people came including King John in 1216. I guess it didn’t help him.

Robert lived in the cave cut into limestone but his brother William built him a chapel and later a Trinitarian Priory was built nearby. Virtually nothing of the Priory survives apart from a bit of wall in the grounds of Abbey House. After Robert’s death the site became a place of pilgrimage.

My next holy site was the Chapel of Our Lady of the Crag, circa 1408. But first I needed to walk along a very exclusive private road past houses named after the ‘abbey’ with beautiful manicured gardens including some fantastic tree carvings.

The gorge got deeper and I saw several caves and evidence of previous shrines and houses. Just beyond the Chapel is the House in the Rock built by a linen weaver in the 18th century. It is now a private residence.

Nearly the end of the walk and by now a bit tired I passed the lower bridge and the Dropping Well and Mother Shipton’s Cave over on the opposite bank and the weir under the cliff leading up to the Norman castle.

The magnificent railway bridge came into view and I ascended many steps up a narrow alley to reach the station in time for the 1614 back to York.