When you arrive at Tan Hill Inn, it frequently feels like you’re getting close to a threshold rather than a cliff. After leaving the paved highway behind, you follow meandering paths that ascend through the Yorkshire Dales until you reach a lone stone building encircled by open moor. In addition to being the tallest pub in Britain, some people may find it to be the most creative.
The inn is renowned for more than just its elevation at 1,732 feet above sea level. It is sometimes commended for something much less common: embracing poetry as money. Depending on the staff’s generosity and mood, your well-crafted lyric can get you a meal or a pint on special evenings, replacing pounds at the bar.
| Feature | Detail |
|---|---|
| Name | Tan Hill Inn |
| Location | Reeth, North Yorkshire, Yorkshire Dales National Park |
| Elevation | 1,732 feet (528 metres) above sea level |
| Historical Origin | 17th century |
| Distinctive Feature | Occasionally accepts original poems as payment for drinks during themed events |
| Atmosphere | Rustic, off-grid, with fireplaces and moorland views |
| Popular Among | Hikers, road-trippers, poetry lovers, stargazers |
| Website | www.tanhillinn.com |
This isn’t gimmickry, and it doesn’t happen every day. It’s more akin to a silent custom—a true cultural nod. Both frequent patrons and guests are encouraged to submit creative poetry for the pub’s themed events. There isn’t a set rhyme scheme or meter. Authenticity conveyed with charm or wit appears to be the only unwritten guideline.
A visitor sent in a few scrawled sentences on stone and wind earlier this year. Hayley, the bartender, read it out loud, gave him a nod of approval, and served him a beer while laughing. Candlelight and crackling fire created an eerily intimate environment. Words count here. They’re not merely read; they’re weighed.
Despite centuries of storms, changes in the economy, and more lately, increased energy prices, Tan Hill Inn has remarkably maintained this charm. It uses water from a nearby spring and produces its own electricity, making it totally off the grid. It can be very isolating, especially in the dead of winter. However, something that is both nostalgic and remarkably current fuels the pub’s success.
It has played host to everything from wedding ceremonies in the snow to Arctic Monkeys concerts throughout the years. However, the poetry nights, which are subtly interspersed throughout the calendar, appear to represent something really novel: an economy of expression. Where else could you get hot soup with a haiku? Or should a sonnet be considered deserving of wine?
The roads outside of Langthwaite were almost inaccessible due to frost, when I visited last November. One motorhome by the side of the road was tilted strangely as I passed it. But the warmth came instantly within the inn. A hand-lettered sign that said, “Don’t pay with your phone—pay with your soul,” pictures of previous snow-ins were displayed on the walls, and brass tap handles glittered behind the bar.
On World Poetry Day, I discovered that to be remarkably comparable to the culture of independent bookstores that have poetry slams or cafés that exchange coffee for short stories. The gesture, however, lands differently here at 1,732 feet up—like throwing a line into the moor and hearing it reverberate.
There aren’t many rules, in case you were wondering. Sometimes the topic is “the Dales,” and other times it’s love or grief. Once, at the pub, a young pair from Sheffield passed a pen between them and wrote a duet. They were contagious in their laughter. The barman’s praise was sincere, even though they had never read poetry out loud before.
Even if only for one evening, the bar has significantly enhanced how individuals interact with location by fostering these interactions. Tan Hill Inn isn’t the place to go for flawless culinary presentation or elegant service. You come because the wind is howling outside and your remarks, no matter how brittle, incomplete, or sincere, are accepted within.
I remember hearing someone read a limerick about the pub goat when I was standing by the fire. Although it wasn’t very clever, it was sincere, and the gathering groaned in appreciation. It was unusual to be in that fleeting moment, surrounded by strangers sipping pints and smiling in unison. It remained in my memory.
Beyond its prestige or historical peculiarities, Tan Hill presents a subdued protest against transactionality. It serves as a reminder that language is valuable outside of the computer and that it may be quite fulfilling to share something unique and creative.
From a practical standpoint, the initiative is small. Poetry by itself does not clean tabs, and there is no published rate of trade. However, it is subtly subversive to think that your voice may purchase you space, time, or food. And maybe more and more essential.
The inn transcends its status as a mere resort by demonstrating its desire to honor creativity with something concrete. It turns into a partner. A listening ear, a stage, and a fireplace. These seemingly insignificant actions—accepting verse as valuable, providing acclaim instead of condemnation—have a remarkable impact on overcoming distance. geographically as well as emotionally.
Tan Hill promotes introspection by providing this unique medium of communication. It encourages us to be much more present, playful, and less defensive. The altitude and the ale aren’t the only factors. It concerns what occurs when someone reads what you have to say, smiles, and then gives you a drink.
