My favourite walk: Ben Rhydding Stepping Stones via Beanlands Island

An Olicanian returns to explore a treasured route in her hometown of Ilkley

It’s always intriguing to watch others pass through the place you live. Carloads of families trundle up Cowpasture Road to the Cow and Calf Rocks, disembarking, then re-embarking under the strain of nappy bags and cockapoos on pulled leads. On the opposite side of the valley, backpack-laden teens scratch their heads over maps as they navigate Langbar Moor on Duke of Edinburgh (DofE) routes. Ironically, the most serious hikers disappear in a blip, dashing onwards on the Dales Way.

Since Ilkley has just received its Walkers Are Welcome badge, it’s safe to suggest that residents will see plenty more of these passersby. But that got me thinking: what route would I recommend to them? Are any worth stopping them in their predetermined tracks? Born in Airedale Hospital in 2001, I’ve spent my childhood, adolescence and now adult life pacing the routes around Ilkley. That’s a lot of dog walks, Mother’s Day rambles and mid-exam stomps around the block to choose from, yet the answer comes almost immediately: Beanlands Island.

Any Olicanian knows this overlooked spot. The islet sits on the River Wharfe, splintering the river in two. Beanlands is an overgrown entanglement of ivy-cloaked stumps and wild grasses that once grew high enough to obscure our sight. It’s zigzagged by sandy trails. Whether they’ve been marked by footsteps or burst riverbanks is anyone’s guess. My mum used to tell me they were laid out by fairies. If the fairies remain, they’ve lately dabbled in graffiti: occasional etchings now appear on trees.

Beanlands feels lived in, an imperfect blend of culture and nature. It’s not just empty beaches (a far cry from the packed pebbles in town) but a gathering spot. In one sandy hollow – the former site of a blue tin boat run mysteriously aground – pre-prepared bonfire spots sit waiting. I’ve never known it without readymade stone circles, but you never seem to catch anyone there. Always vacated, never occupied – a lesson playing truant in high school has taught me. Add it to the list of the islet’s mysteries.

I recently found myself unable to shake the temptation to retrace these steps. “It’s a visitor’s silent tragedy,” I asserted to myself, stirring a black coffee one morning. Beanlands is the sort of place tourists stumble past while distracted by the glaring spots, like the Cow and Calf Rocks or "Bluebell" Woods (that’s Middleton, in case you’re wondering). They come tantalisingly close, usually stopping just shy of the trailhead by taking the standard shortcut over the Suspension Bridge. If only they knew to carry on a few minutes further (although perhaps we should be grateful that few do).

All this reminiscing was motivation enough. I finished the coffee, grabbed my camera and headed to the intersection at the bottom of Clifford Road. I wanted to hike my favourite trail through fresh eyes, a five-kilometre loop with an out-and-back extension from the Old Bridge to the Stepping Stones.

The free parking is something we should appreciate while it lasts. Tucking the keys into my pocket, I crossed the stone bridge, glancing at the river view briefly at the crux of the arch. It was early morning, but Ilkley Park was already attracting its first few families.

This section is the busiest of the trail and I passed the Riverside Kabin, sticking to the banks of the Wharfe as I headed towards the stone tunnel. This initial section is regimented tarmac, an orderly start for a walk that prompts childhood nostalgia. It loops towards the Swing Bridge, passes the graveyard and skirts the temptation of a stop on the Pebble Beach. With that, though, I was in the clear: onto the river path that connects Ilkley and Ben Rhydding. It’s here that the magic begins.

The path widens and five minutes into this section looms the blink-and-you-miss-it access to “Beanies Island.” The left-hand side of the trail opens slightly, marked by a low-lying fallen tree and the sandy beckoning of a locally trodden path towards the water. Sometimes, the stony riverbed dries completely, leaving not-so-intrepid explorers with the easy task of dawdling across. But on wetter days, reaching Beanlands is slightly more commitment-heavy – brace yourself for wet feet as you splash across this redirected section of the Wharfe.

Clambering up the bank, the time on the islet is best left unscheduled. Let the sandy trails guide you: watch crows hopping along quiet beaches, step over fallen trees and spot the stickyweed and “popping peas” of surviving Himalayan balsam that scatters the undergrowth. When you’re ready to leave, just follow the waterfront, which leads to a short scramble and another dash across the River Wharfe’s side channel.

Rejoining the main path, it gradually narrows into a single-file squeeze past gardens with barely boarded fences. The grand finale? A dizzying jaunt across the Ben Rhydding Stepping Stones. Brave it twice and return along the same route. But if you fail that return trip? The stakes are high: shuffle carefully back to the Swing Bridge via Denton Road with your tail between your legs.

As Ilkley embraces a new wave of hikers and a refreshed route of walks, I think our original paths will remain our favourites. To an unknowing eye, Beanlands is little more than what it says on paper, and in all fairness, even that is limited. The tiny islet isn’t even accurately depicted on Google Maps, a modern epitome of a quiet solace hidden within plain sight. Yet this peaceful corner has been passed down through Ilkley’s generations: my dad grew up playing on the islet, as did I, and hopefully so will my future children. There’s something comforting about those overlooked spots.

I’m grown up now and as a journalist predominantly covering travel, I spend more time as a passerby on distant trails than on familiar routes at home. People laugh when I put humble old “Beanies” in the ranks of the Grand Canyon’s North Rim or fellside treks across Lapland. They won’t change my mind, though: this route marks a special sort of homecoming.