Day 23 -- Whitby to Pickering to Whitby, by Train

The North York Moors Railway is a “heritage” railway, meaning that it transports contemporary passengers on outdated trains to outdated stations for exorbitant fares. Although trains and stations have been refurbished, they typically don’t meet current standards for disabilities or comfort. Most of the “employees” are volunteers – many probably doing the same jobs they did while employed. The heritage railways are for fanatics, which may include me because I enjoy riding on them.

The ride from Whitby to Pickering is only 18 miles, but takes about 1½ hours. The tracks generally follow the Esk River valley, providing the same scenery you would enjoy if you walked it. Many people hop on and off the train and walk parts of it. I didn’t hop off, but I did nod off from time to time, if that counts.

 

I timed my trips to take an historic diesel engine to Pickering, and return to Whitby on an historic steam engine. Once aboard, you don’t really see the engine except on tight curves, and then only if you are in the last carriage, too far to get a picture. You could hear the difference, though; at each stop the roar of the diesel engine grew louder when accelerating, while the tempo of the steam engine’s chugging increased, but not its decibels.

 

 

 

 

Due to my schedule, I had less than an hour in Pickering, which was more than enough. I’m still not mentioning the U.S. election campaign, but I thought it interesting that these two establishments were right down the street from each other. Maybe our cultures are closer than I thought.

 

 

 

To round out my tourist day, I took a hop-on, hop-off bus tour of Whitby. I did the entire tour without hopping off, because I knew I wouldn’t hop back on once I got off. The good thing about the tour is that it was on a modern bus, so the fare was low. It was worth every tuppence I paid.

Day 22 -- Robin Hood's Bay to Whitby, 6 miles

A short walk along the bluffs above the North Sea is a delightful way to spend the day. It was diminished only by the weight of my pack, 10 or 12 pounds more than I’ve been carrying because there is no baggage transfer service for the remainder of the walk.

The views were outstanding. The day was only slightly warm, made agreeable by a pleasant sea breeze. Rain the past week has brought wildflowers to full bloom.

I met many day walkers – far too many to photograph or report on. All were headed in the opposite direction. If any walkers had been headed in my direction, they would have easily passed me, given the weight of my pack.

Since a picture is worth a thousand words, I’ll stop writing and share the scenery.

Robin Hood's Bay from north

Looking north on Cleveland Way

Looking North

Former Lighthouse at Whitby Bay (now a holiday rental)

Hundreds of nesting sea gulls (enlarge for better view)

Whitby Abbey

The Cleveland Way

My arrival at Robin Hood’s Bay concluded the second leg of this summer’s walk. The third leg will be along the Cleveland Way. The Cleveland Way is a national trail in northern England, running 110 miles. It starts inland, at Helmsley (near Ilkley, where I started the Dales Way), then runs along the north edge of the North York Moors National Park until reaching the coast at Saltburn. It then runs south along the coast, through Robin Hood’s Bay and terminates near Scarborough. For part of its course, it merges with the Coast to Coast.

 

We first met the Cleveland Way at Osmotherley while I walked the Coast to Coast.  I left it when I dropped down off the moor to head to Great Broughton, and then rejoined it for a short time at Clay Bank Top as I headed towards Blakey Ridge (Lion Inn). The Cleveland Way turned north before Blakey Ridge, while the Coast to Coast continued east. I pick up the Cleveland Way again at Robin Hood’s Bay, and follow it north along the bluffs above the North Sea.

The Cleveland Way continues to run along the coast through Whitby, Staithes, and Saltburn, then turns inland to Guisbrough. I’ll be walking approximately 35 miles on the Cleveland Way between Robin Hood’s Bay and Guisbrough.

Day 21 -- Grosmont to Robin Hood's Bay, 15 miles

Grosmont is the home of the North York Moors steam railway, so there is a lot of railroad memorabilia around here, including what is thought to be the first railway tunnel in the world. How many opportunities does one get to walk through the world’s oldest railway tunnel? Life just doesn’t get any better than this.

A long, steep climb out of Grosmont leads to the top of Sleights Moor, providing sweeping views of the North Sea. Far to the horizon, near Middlesbrough, is a distinctive hill shaped like a shark fin, with the unlikely name of Roseberry Topping. I’ll try to climb it next week. But today, on the moorland all around me, the heather is starting to bloom. I suppose that Trevor Swales is moving his bees up to the moor about now.

While I moseyed along at my typical daydream pace, Andrew caught up with me, and we walked together most of the day. Near Littlebeck in 1790, George Chubb hollowed out a large sandstone boulder. He even carved a bench along the interior perimeter. It’s not clear if he actually made the rock his home, but it isn’t hard to imagine what his wife may have thought of his little project. He probably would have been better off to have walked the oldest railway tunnel.

 

Andrew at the Hermitage

The traditional Coast to Coast route approaches Robin Hood’s Bay from the northeast by a four-mile loop along scenic bluffs above the sea. Because I’ll be walking those bluffs tomorrow to Whitby, I took a more direct path through the Greystone Hills. My path was well-marked on the map, but not on the ground. After several frustrating attempts to find the proper route, I finally rejoined the Coast to Coast path Andrew was following, but he was long past by then. I did meet Robin (not the same Robin previously referred to in my postings) at the junction and he and I followed the Coast to Coast track until I found another way to achieve the route I had been seeking.  I may have saved a mile of walking, but probably didn’t save any time.

Path disappears

Robin No. 2

Robin Hood’s Bay is an old fishing village that has a reputation for harboring smugglers who moved their untaxed goods through a maze of narrow alleys. Today it is a tourist town, harboring walkers who can’t navigate the passageways any better than I can navigate the moors.

Later, while trying to navigate to the bar, I stumbled into the dining room where I met the Ullswater Steamer group who had successfully completed their Coast to Coast walk.

 

Dennis, Lynne, Lost-a-lot, Sara and Dave 

Andrew, Paul, Robin 1, Normand, Marie-Helene and I filled the evening with funny stories over dinner. When I completed my first Coast to Coast walk (actually my only Coast to Coast walk, since I joined this one at Grasmere) there was nobody with whom to celebrate. Andrew had the same experience when completing his first Coast to Coast two years ago. An end-of-the-walk party is a much more fitting conclusion, even for those who may not have walked through the oldest railway tunnel.

Paul, Normand, Marie-Helene, Lost-a-lot, Andrew and Robin No. 1

Day 20 -- Blakey to Grosmont, 14 miles

The North York Moors are bleak and remote. Fortunately for walkers, there are excellent trails though areas that would otherwise be unpleasantly boggy. The excellent trails were not constructed with walkers in mind; in the 1800s the area was extensively mined for iron and other minerals, and railways were built to ship the ore. Mining ore is no longer as profitable as mining walkers’ pockets, so in a typical rails-to-trails conversion, footpaths were provided for walkers, and tourists were provided for hoteliers. Stone markers are all that remains of the former railway.

 

 

When the tourists stop coming in the off-season, the moors become lonely. With only stone markers to keep them company, locals gave names to the stone markers.

Marie-Helene and Normand at Young Ralph Cross

 

Fat Betty

 

I spent the entire morning walking with Andrew, Normand and Marie-Helene. Just short of Glaisdale, we came upon Dave and Geoff. They will be arriving at Robin Hood’s Bay on Friday, a day after the rest of us. After a short chat, we said our final good-byes and moved on.

 

Beggar's Bridge in Glaisdale

Andrew, Normand and Marie-Helene stopped for night at Egton Bridge, and I moved on alone to Grosmont. I had hoped for a ride from  a group of Dutch car enthusiasts but, although they were friendly, they didn't offer me a ride. They'll probably regret it once they read my first posting and see that I once owned an MGB.

Triumph, but what year?

As I entered Grosmont, I met Paul, a park ranger from Tasmania, and Robin, who lives in Sunderland. I’ve been sharing beers and dinners with them for the past week, and we agreed to do so again tonight.

 

Paul and Robin

Day 19 -- Great Broughton to Blakey (Lion Inn), 9 miles

Today is one of those melancholy days that every long-distance walker experiences. With the end of the walk approaching (or for me, the end of the second leg of my walk), the excitement of finishing is tempered by the separation from new friends. For days, we have been sharing trails, drinks, meals, stories and experiences, inevitably developing friendships. The conclusion of the walk marks the time when we bid adieu to our new friends, most of whom we expect never to see again. 

Today at breakfast, I bade farewell to Leo and Lynn, as they set off on the first of two 20-mile days that will bring them to the finish at Robin Hood’s Bay on Wednesday. After lunch today at the Lion Inn, Andrew, Dave, Geoff and I said our good-byes to Charlotte, who is suspending her walk to be resumed in August.

I also said good-bye to Harry, who is accelerating his walk and will finish before I do. I haven’t written much about Harry, one of the most delightful gentlemen you could hope to meet. He and I walked together for quite some time many days ago. That evening at the pub, I didn’t recognize him, and re-introduced myself. Several mornings later, I did the same thing at breakfast. Yesterday evening I did the same thing as I joined him for a beer. We had dinner together, and I must say he is a wonderful conversationalist. This morning as we waited for the shuttle to carry us to Clay Bank Top to resume the walk, I reintroduced myself to a stranger who turned out to be Harry.

One might think that senility is creeping into my aged brain, and that may be so, but I say that my inability to recognize Harry is his fault, not mine. You see, Harry sports a neatly trimmed grey beard, common among the over-60 crowd, that conceals his face and makes him look like every other over-60 bearded man who lives in my home-town retirement community known as Sun River. But the main reason is that Harry is an impeccable dresser. He always appears in a different shirt on the trail. Sometimes he wears a baseball cap, sometimes a tennis cap, sometimes no cap, with or without sunglasses. Hikers are always recognized by their attire, and if you change clothes you can’t be recognized. He’s quite possibly a movie star who is attempting to retain some anonymity.

If so, his cover is blown. Today, our walk started with a steep, lengthy climb to attain the top of the moor. Harry and I started together, but he’s a much stronger hiker than I, and he soon got far ahead. When I finally reached the crest of the hill, Harry and Charlotte were there talking with Dave and Jeff. With the exception of Charlotte, I was quite sure I hadn’t previously included any of their pictures in my blog. Not one to miss an opportunity, I grabbed the picture, which only temporarily reduced the melancholy as Harry and Charlotte soon set off at a pace I once may have maintained, but not any longer.

Charlotte (with Adventure Ted), Harry (rear), Dave and Geoff

Steep Ascent

Moorland marker

Day 18 -- Osmotherley to Great Broughton, 10 miles

Di Swales, of Sherpa Van, has been booking accommodations for my walks in Britain for more than five years. She found rooms for me during My1200 Mile Summer in 2011 when I couldn’t, and she’s booked my rooms this year on the Dales Way and the Coast to Coast. So I was delighted to finally meet her in person at her B&B, 32 South End, in the North Yorkshire village of Osmotherley. She’s certainly the queen bee of accommodations.

Di Swales

 

Di’s husband, Trevor, has been making honey for 41 years. Actually, it’s the bees that make the honey, Trevor just steals it from them and packages it for consumers. Today he generously gave me a tour of his operation. It’s a one-man operation, but he’s got millions and millions of employees doing the real work.

 

Trevor Swales and some of his bee hives

Here’s my understanding of how it all works. Each of queen and her entourage live in the lower castle (my term, not his) – basically a wooden box. Trevor moves each castle close to flowering plants so the bees will be near the flowers he wants them to pollenate. Next week he’ll be moving the castles to the moors in order to produce heather honey. On top of the castle he stacks more wooden boxes, each containing racks of honeycombs. Over time, the bees will fill the combs with honey. In a good year, Trevor can get three harvests.

Honeycomb in rack

  

Harvesting the honey involves removing the upper boxes without disturbing the queen in her lower castle, spinning the racks in a centrifuge, and draining off the honey. The honey is filtered several times and placed in jars. It is very good – Di serves it at her B&B, and Trevor sells the rest.

 

Centrifuge

 

Honey, before straining



 

I had never had a tour of a honey-making facility before, and by comparison, the rest of the day’s walk seemed pretty ordinary. Despite the beautiful weather, spectacular scenery and lovely footpath, my thoughts were on the toast and honey I’ll have with tomorrow’s breakfast.

But for those of you who may never have had a beekeeper’s tour, and may not be focused on tomorrow’s breakfast, I’ll post some pictures from the walk.