Ribblesdale: My Photographer’s Route From Riverbank to Viaduct

People think Ribblesdale is just the viaduct — a quick snap, back in the car, job done. Couldn’t be further from the truth. In under 50 words: Ribblesdale is a 70-mile strip of river bends, limestone scars, waterfalls, industrial remnants and Three Peaks drama, and I shoot it as a single flowing journey from Clitheroe all the way up to Ribblehead.

What makes Ribblesdale such a cracking place to photograph?

Because it’s one of the few valleys where the river, railway, villages and big scenery all stack up neatly for photos.

What I like most is the pace of it. The scenery doesn’t hit you all at once; it builds — gentle rolling farmland near Clitheroe, then the valley tightens, then the limestone kicks in, then the walls and barns sharpen, and by the time you’re up near Horton the whole thing goes full “epic cinema.” It also helps that the railway line shadows the river almost the entire way, so you get loads of natural leading lines. On certain days you’ll hear a faint rumble of a train long before you see it, and if the clouds are low, the light swings across the hills in great diagonal sweeps that make everything look 10× more dramatic than it has any right to.

Where do I actually start the route — Clitheroe or Settle?

For a proper downstream-upstream narrative I start in Clitheroe, even though most of my workshops kick off in Settle.

Clitheroe gives you a nice soft opening: castle, cobbled backstreets, independent shops, and the first glimpse of Pendle brooding over everything. If you wander behind the castle in late afternoon light, the stone glows this warm honey colour that looks brilliant on a mild telephoto. Follow the Ribble itself and the meanders south of town give you those classic wide-river curves — great for drone shots if the wind isn’t howling. It sets the tone before the landscape starts tightening its belt further north.

Is Pendle Hill and Downham worth a detour for photos?

Absolutely — Pendle is a big stand-alone gritstone lump that looks moody from nearly every angle, and Downham is a photographer’s dream.

Pendle’s shape is so clean and geometric you can isolate it with a long lens from miles away. I’ve shot it from the Blacko side where the clouds cling onto the top and the whole thing looks like a sleeping giant. Downham, on the other hand, is a different world entirely: no visible cables, no modern clutter, no ugly signage. On a misty morning it goes full chocolate-box — but not in a cheesy way. If you stand near the village green with Pendle looming behind, you get that brilliant contrast between neat stone cottages and wild landscape. It’s a place where you can’t really take a bad photo unless you leave the lens cap on.

What shots do I always grab around Settle?

Settle is the first place where the valley starts getting punchy — river on one side, railway on the other, hills stacking behind.

I usually stop near Settle Hydro first. The weir gives you a nice silky long-exposure opportunity if the river’s up, and the little viewpoint above it lets you see the railway line threading along the valley edge. In town, I always nip into the square because the old shopfronts and angled streets give loads of tight compositions with repeating roofs and chimneys. Late afternoon is great here — the sun drops behind the western ridge and throws these long slanted shadows across the cobbles.

Once you leave Settle and start up Langcliffe Road, the whole valley opens like a stage curtain. This is the point where most people say “Oh wow” without meaning to.

How do I photograph Scalber Force without breaking my neck?

Very carefully — but the reward is one of the Dales’ prettiest, most tucked-away waterfalls.

Scalber Force sits in a little wooded bowl just off the high road to Malham. When you step through the trees the temperature drops, the air goes still, and you suddenly hear this clean vertical hiss of water, not a roar — just a gentle, continuous fall. I often go in spring when the moss glows radioactive green and the leaves create a soft canopy. If you crouch low on the right-hand bank you can frame the fall between the leaning trunks for a really classic composition. The walk down is steep and a bit greasy after rain, but you don’t need to be Edmund Hillary to get there — just steady feet and common sense.

Why do Winskill Stones and that little limestone cutting always blow people’s minds?

Because it’s the Dales reduced to its purest ingredients: pavement, hills, wind, sky.

As you climb the switchbacks out of Langcliffe the valley suddenly drops away behind you. Pull into one of the lay-bys near the cattle grid and you’ll get an unbelievable view straight down to Settle. The limestone pavement at Winskill is something else entirely — cracked blocks, deep grikes, twisted hawthorn trees leaning like they’ve been in a fight with the weather for eighty years. On a breezy day you can hear the wind whistling through the gaps, and if the clouds are shifting fast you get these moving spotlights drifting over Pen-y-ghent. I often shoot wide here, letting the fractured pavement fill the front third for massive texture.

The little limestone cutting just up the road is a gem. Three or four scraggy trees cling to the top, and with the right angle it looks like a natural sculpture.

How do I get to Catrigg Force the sensible way?

Start from the top track — far easier than hauling yourself up from Stainforth.

Park at the bridleway pull-in, hop over the stile, and wander across two or three meadows. The sound of the waterfall reaches you before you see it — a hollow echo bouncing around the gorge. Catrigg Force drops into a narrow rocky chamber where the walls rise almost vertically, and if you stand on the left bank you can catch that brilliant contrast between the bright cascade and the darker stone behind it. It’s one of those spots where you take 30 photos that all look great, and you only realise how far you descended when you start the slog back up.

What’s the deal with the Hoffman Kiln and the old limeworks?

It’s industrial heritage wrapped in atmospheric light — one of the best overcast-day locations in the Dales.

Back in the day they dragged limestone straight off the cliff behind it and fed it into this huge, echoey tunnel of arches. When you walk inside the kiln the temperature drops, the air smells slightly chalky, and the repeating stone vaults disappear into the darkness like something out of The Witcher. It photographs brilliantly from both ends — either shoot straight down the tunnel for symmetry, or angle your camera low to exaggerate the repeating arches. If the sun’s out you get dramatic shafts of light cutting across the dust; if it’s cloudy, the contrast is perfect for black-and-white.

Where do I shoot Stainforth Force, the packhorse bridge, and those River Ribble bends?

Park in the village car park and stroll down Dog Hill Brow — simple and scenic.

Stainforth Force is a stepped cascade, so instead of one big drop you get three or four smaller ones tumbling over each other. In autumn, salmon sometimes leap here, which feels like nature showing off. The old packhorse bridge is ridiculously photogenic — slightly skewed, slightly wonky, and framed by moss-covered walls. I like shooting upriver with a mid-telephoto to compress the steps of the waterfall. On a sunny day the water goes warm amber, almost like it’s lit from underneath.

Is Horton-in-Ribblesdale any good for photography, or is it all walkers and chaos?

Both, but the photos make it absolutely worth it.

Horton can be bonkers on summer Saturdays — cars everywhere, rucksacks bouncing about — but ignore that and focus on St Oswald’s Church. From the right angle you get the church in the foreground and Pen-y-ghent rising behind like a great stone wedge. If the cloud base is low the peak sits in mist, which looks cracking with a 50mm or a short telephoto. Wander north through the village and you’ll cross two little bridges; the river here twists gently through the meadows and you can pick off some tidy pastoral shots with Whernside or Ingleborough peeking over the horizon.

How do I approach the final stretch to Ribblehead for the big shots?

Treat every lay-by as an opportunity — the whole upper valley is one long photo.

Past Selside, the road straightens and the scale of everything ramps up — big sky, big hills, wide lumpy moorland. I often use a long lens here to isolate Pen-y-ghent’s triangular summit against the more rounded hills behind it. On days when the air is crystal clear you get this lovely stacked-layer effect where each ridge fades slightly bluer into the distance.

By the time you hit the T-junction below the viaduct, the whole place feels like a film set.

What’s my go-to method for photographing the Ribblehead Viaduct?

I start at the station car park because it gives you the railway lines, the Three Peaks and the sweep of the valley all in one go — proper nuts-and-bolts drama.

Walking over the crossing you get that quiet wind hum mixed with the occasional rattle of a distant train. The sleepers make perfect foreground texture, and I often crouch low so the rails run like arrows into Whernside or Pen-y-ghent. Then I drop down towards the pub, follow the rough track out to the arches, and let the sheer scale of the thing take over. On cloudy days the viaduct goes charcoal grey; on sunny evenings the top catches a golden rim-light that’s pure chef’s kiss.

The final trick is to climb a short way up the Whernside path. A tiny bit of height and suddenly Ingleborough sits perfectly behind the viaduct. At sunset the hill can turn a deep red while the stone arches stay cool grey — looks like you’ve done serious colour grading, when in reality nature’s just showing off.

Where are the secret lay-bys for limestone foregrounds and Three Peaks backdrops?

Head a short way towards Hawes on Blea Moor Road — three or four lay-bys on the left give you everything you need.

Walk twenty metres from the road and you hit rough limestone pavement that makes outrageous foreground interest. Crack lines, weathered blocks, deep shadows — it’s all there. Compose low and you get a foreground of raw texture, a mid-ground of the viaduct’s arches, and the Three Peaks lounging behind like sleeping giants. It’s the sort of frame that looks like it belongs on a railway documentary cover.

How do I finish the day with that classic viaduct curve shot?

Drive towards Ingleton along Low Sleights Road and stop at the tiny lay-by on the left — best curve angle you’ll get.

From here you can actually see the slight bend in the viaduct as it sweeps across the moor. Hop over by the farm gate (if it’s safe and respectful), wander left, and you’ll find more limestone blocks you can use as anchor points in the foreground. At sunset the whole thing glows warm, and the shadows between the arches deepen into this rich purply grey. It’s the perfect end to the route: quiet, atmospheric, and dead easy to shoot well.

Quick-Reference Route (Downstream → Upstream)