WetThe forecast this morning was terrible. Rain all day, with thunderstorms starting at 1pm continuing for four hours. I didn’t fancy being struck by lightning on the top of the moor, so we had an early breakfast and got going. The strangeness of walking together after two weeks apart was mirrored by the strangeness outside. No rain yet, instead a thick mist down to the ground, making it hard to even see across the road. Mist has a strangely audio-deadening effect, rather like snow. David was thinking positively, when I said how sorry I was that he wasn’t getting the views I’d enjoyed, by saying that it was all part of the experience of the North York Moors. It was certainly evocative. The first section of today’s walk was on the road, but the interest was just to the sides. Moorland crosses are a frequent occurrence in this part of Yorkshire, and there were some wonderful examples in our first two or three miles. They were used to guide travellers, and first appeared in the 7th century. In these misty conditions with uncertain visibility, they gave a flavour of how grateful a medieval traveller would have been to see them reassuringly rising into view. We saw at least three, the Ralph Cross, which is now the emblem of the North York Moors National Park, the Botton Cross, which is less intact, and also the White Cross, known, brilliantly, locally as Fat Betty. I had to work hard to not let this lead to today’s ear worm. After half an hour or so, the mist started lifting periodically, offering tempting views of the moors. Then, joyfully and temporarily the sun broke through, so we could almost imagine we could see the sea. Walking fairly consistently downhill over Glaisdale Rigg, we passed a lot more grouse butts, and a lot more grouse, blissfully unaware of the imminent arrival of the Glorious 12th. We stopped for a cup of tea from my battered thermos, looking over the wonderfully named Great Fryup dale, observing the rain clouds coming at us in all directions. Two hours in and we were still pretty dry, every minute in that state was a bonus. But the rain came suddenly and heavily. I stopped to put on waterproof trousers with the speed, focus and precision of an F1 pit stop. The wet meant we then couldn’t talk, so I had a little concert inside my hood to keep my spirits up. Eventually we descended into Glaisdale. In doing so we passed a little girl of about 10, her dog, and her dad who are walking the path, camping all the way. They have become quite the celebrities, lots of the walkers know of them, and all are most impressed at her grit. They were queuing at the butchers - maybe it’s sausages for the dog’s tea tonight. Bev and Bob’s cafe is on the road out of the village, an oasis for walkers. Their garden is impeccable, a plantswoman’s delight with meticulously labelled specimens. But the real joy was the refreshments, home cooked scones, amazing gingerbread and cheese. Just what we needed before the last push of the day. And it had temporarily stopped raining, and the seating was undercover too, so the condensation on the inside of my outer shell had a chance to dry. Perfect. Within a couple of minutes of setting off again, and directly after I’d commented on how lucky we’d been so far compared to the forecast, the rain started again. This time it meant business. It hammered down in Biblical fashion, finding the flaws in our waterproofs, making the phone difficult to use for navigation, making the map soggy, and it continued without much relief for the next 90 minutes. As we were doggedly ploughing our way along the route the water was escalating down the hills, swirling round and over our boots, and the mud from the fields was creating a brown bubbling torrent where the roads had been. There’s a strange resignation about being in weather like this. There’s no fighting it, and when it’s set in there’s no point in trying to wait it out, and there was nowhere to wait anyway. You just put your head down, hunch your shoulders and endure. But whilst we were walking in this state, it was lovely to see the cheerful Skipton couple, Donna and Graham, whom I’d met up with days ago. Catching up with them, swapping stories about where we’ve been and the people we’ve met, meant that our sodden walk into Grosmont went a lot more quickly. Grosmont is an interesting place. Originally just known as Tunnel, it’s very much based round the railway. The North York Moors Railway now operates out of the station, and throughout the afternoon we could hear the thunderous sound of the steam engines. What a sight. And a smell. Perhaps not quite as pungent as my walking clothes, but not far off. The last night tonight before Robin Hood’s Bay. I am feeling ambivalent about it - excited to complete the challenge, but very sad that this incredible experience will soon be over. Hoping that It might be a drier day tomorrow.
Stats: Distance covered: 14 miles Total ascent: 420 feet Calories burned: 1500 Number of working steam engines admired: 2 Annoying ear worm: Starstruck (Kylie & Years and Years) Hearty post walk meal with local tipple: Ham, egg and chips (amazing!) Jam roly poly and custard (again?!) Pint of Wainwright’s Video of the day https://www.relive.cc/view/vXOnwGKrdB6
3 Comments
Carly
6/8/2021 20:03:51
Let the sun shine!! Make sure you skip all the way! Xx
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James
6/8/2021 20:05:26
Now you're warmed up & match fit will you be walking the reverse route to the West on Sunday? 😁🤔
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Jane
6/8/2021 20:17:18
I’ve just read about someone who ran it in just over 39 hours - maybe that’s what I’ll do on Sunday and Monday….???
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