I came to Bronte country fully signed up for the unfiltered Wuthering Heights experience: the tumult of windswept moors, storm-beaten farmhouses, haunting heroines, nature wild and untamed. I didn’t think it would turn its full fury against me.
I’ve been halted on a riverside track that leads to the stone farmhouse where I’m staying, set on a hillside in the Yorkshire Dales. This narrow stretch of the River Wharfe is usually a mild-mannered trickle. Now, it has burst its bank and turned into a rabid torrent after a storm. My way is blocked by a vicious-looking whirlpool – to try to drive through it would be madness.
Financial Times