From the edges of
the canon, purple heather and ling stretch away on either side to the most
distant horizons, and one can walk for miles in almost any direction
without encountering a human being and rarely a house of any description.
The few cottages that now stand in lonely isolation in different parts of
the moors have only made their appearance since the Enclosures Act, so
that before that time these moors must have been one of the most extensive
stretches of uninhabited country in England. From the Saltersgate Inn,
some of the most remarkable views that the moorlands present are all
collected together in a comparatively small space. One looks towards the
west across a remarkably deep ravine with precipitous sides that leads out
of Newton Dale towards the old coach road upon which the lonely hostelry
stands. At the foot of the steep rocks, a stream trickles into a basin and
then falls downwards in a small cascade, finding its way into the
Pickering Beck that flows along the bottom of Newton Dale. From the inn
also, the great ravine we have been describing appears as an enormous
trench cut through the heathery plateau, and we are led to wonder how it
was that no legends as to its origin have survived until the present time.
The Roman road, which is supposed to have been built by Wade and his wife
when they were engaged on the construction of Mulgrave and Pickering
Castles, seems uninspiring beside the majestic proportions of Newton Dale.
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