Bolton Castle and a sheep dip with a difference…

We were holidaying at Westholme Estate yet again so we decided to plan walks from the door as it would be ridiculous not to take advantage of such a great base camp and the walks it offered without driving.  We had purchased a great ‘Dales Pack’ from  walking-books.com and chose a walk up to Bolton Castle from the pack, taking in a quick look at Aysgarth Falls on route.

We walked from our lodge towards the impressive St. Andrew’s Church which looks over High Force Aysgarth Falls.  Crossing the road over the River Ure gave a photo opportunity of the Higher Falls.  Once over the bridge, there’s an area to the left where you can either go to have a closer look at the falls or turn right up a path into the National Park visitors centre.  We walked across the car park and crossed the main road into Freeholders Wood.  We had decided at planning stage to do the route backwards, not a reflection on the route card, just the way the weather looked we wanted to get onto the high ground sooner rather than later.

The track through the woods is well worn and simple to follow, exiting the woods and through the fields heading north towards Carperby.  The fields are open and give you a great view of the surrounding moorland and high ground.  We entered Carperby, a lovely village that looks like a great place to which I could retire, from the village we turned up an incline to Ponderledge Scar.  Then there’s a path bearing right following a fence/wall up onto moorland where it levels out nicely.  I know I do bang on about sheep and yeah, yeah they have equal rights to the hills, but as we reached the top, I saw something which made me think our woolly friends are sometimes just taking the piss out of me.  We saw a line of obviously pregnant sheep making their way into a gate.  I put Alfie on his lead and waited for the Ewes to make to complete their journey.  We waited, and waited, and waited as sheep after sheep trooped into this field in single file.  Initially in a rush but as the merry little bunch grew in confidence the procession became slower and slower, and the gap between them got wider.  So for about 5 minutes we stood staring at this slow moving queue of mutton filing their way through this gate, I’m sure some were laughing and if they had fingers, they’d have given me one.

When the flow of sheep had subsided we carried on the route turning east and a chance to get dive bombed by Lapwings protecting their nesting site.  I quickly glanced back to the field where the sheep had dawdled into, looked like bloody New Zealand!  From here you can see the dale, which I’m guessing the River Ure has carved out over the years.  The route is clear and with the added bonus of yellow spots dotted on the occasional fence post or wall which some kind soul has placed on for our benefit, for ease of navigation.

The path goes through probably the scruffiest set of farm barns (no house) I’ve seen in many a mile.  However, Alfie found the sheep manure which was spread across the path very exciting.  He found the freshest pile and probably the deepest, and proceeded to roll around in it ensuring a nice thick coat of sheep s@@t to accompany us for the rest of the journey.  My attempts to stop my naughty Springer were met with a scowl from the farmer as he sped past on his quad.  Mind you the air was a bit blue!

We walked through the grounds of Bolton Castle with a definite ‘air’ about us, god knows what all the visitors to the 14^th century castle thought when we strolled through with what sort of looked like a dog, but bared more resemblance to a walking sheep pat.  The castle itself is in really good nick considering, a must for a nice cultured visit if you get the chance.

Just after the castle is the little village Castle Bolton, again looks very ‘retirable’ but maybe a bit out of our price range, but who knows.  The route takes the road down back over the main road and through another field, but this one graced us with not Ewes, but four hard looking Rams who didn’t appreciate the interruption to their sleep.  Down to the farm at Low Thoresbay and along Thoresbay Lane and through Hollins House and back to the sounds of Aysgarth Falls, this time the Lower Falls.  Back in Freeholders Wood and a look at one of the carved seats one of our twitter friends had told us about.

We ended the walk in Aysgarth Falls Hotel for a cider or two.  I shouldn’t laugh but whilst relaxing in the pub two or three people walked passed Aflie, who was still crusty and smelly, and they gave him a good old stroke before we had chance to warn them.  Hope they enjoyed their meals.

All in all, this is a great route, well-worn and marked, amazing views and wildlife plentiful.  Hats off to the author they have captured some good features along the way.

Alfie however, got a well-deserved bath in the beck back at the Estate!

Cleveland Way -Ravenscar to Scarborough

It’s been sometime since I blogged about walking a ‘Way’, and mainly due to ‘this and that’ and I haven’t been bothered, the literary juices haven’t been flowing like they should. After I managed to scrape together Sheffield Pike blog out I’ve decided to give our next leg of the Cleveland Way a bash and see how it flows.

It seems like ages since we started our quest at Helmsley, well it is really, but I feel the miles have been many but the end is in sight. Not as though I want it to end but the feeling of ending a ‘Way’ is quite fulfilling and the planning of another route is just as exciting as completing.

As usual a quick game of musical cars starts a linear route with Dicko and Sue leading the way to Scarborough and the search for a car parking space on a Bank holiday Monday. Luckily we found a recently vacated spot near the North Bay and we all piled into Dicko’s mean machine with all our kit and dog. A small fortune in parking fees later and we were on route back to Ravenscar to pick up the end of the last leg of the Cleveland Way.

The Bank Holiday traffic was in full swing and the East coast of Yorkshire (is there another coast of Yorkshire??) was buzzing with holiday makers and games arcade seekers but we managed to find a space at OL27 981015 opposite the public toilets on the main road to Raven Hall Hotel. Boots on, daysack checked and we were off. Testing my body cam for the second time, this time tightly strapped to my shoulder strap and turned on. The first few hundred metres were the usual genres of banter. Sue complaining about why she has to carry a daysack and Kel doesn’t (Kel had put all her food and waterproofs into mine before we set off) and Kel and Sue discussing the usual earth shattering stuff.

We took a quick right onto Station Rd then an even quicker left toward the beach banks and a view of the North Sea. The path went right onto the beach banks and the start of our rollercoaster route to Scarborough. These coastal walks are a real treat when the weathers clear, which is was today, looking at the map it’s easy to work the twists and turns out and you can see your goal getting closer. What you can’t see are the drops in the path when a Bay cuts into the route, these I have named as ‘Sue Moaners’! Reason being is you can’t see these little gems until you’re right on top of them if you’ve not got a map, which invariably Sue never does. Dicko’s chief map reader followed closely by me, and then Kel who only uses a map to plan routes, and when I say ‘plan’, I mean find as many contour lines closest together for a route up as she can, I think she just likes the colour orange!

I digress slightly, the cut in the coastline that ‘bays’ make is sometimes quite a decent drop then climb on a normally level route. My choice of nickname for them is because on sight of these features, Sue’s face drops, she stops walking, puts her hands on her hips and says “Oh no!” (Or words to that affect). Dicko then gets a glare as though he’d driven to Yorkshire in the night and dug the bay out himself just to miff Sue off!

But for now we were going at a good pace, the view was great and the jelly babies were on tap from Sue’s heavily laden daysack, did I say laden?, I meant “I’ve had heavier pockets”. The beach offered geographical changes at every turn and, sad as I may sound the sight of the fisherman pulling their lobster pots on board showed me a calmer, more relaxed way of life that is a different world to me. Blea Wyke went by and War Dyke keeping the path nice and level and smiles all round. In fact all was good and we decided to have bait at Hayburn Wyke, the Trust guys had done a great job putting steps down into the nature reserve, handle rails the works! At the bottom of the steps was a great view out to sea and a cracking couple of rocks to perch and eat.

Bait stops are always a time for reflection on the route so far, expectations of the route ahead and a chance for Alfie to weigh up what sandwiches are on offer and to totally ignore the boiled egg Kel brings him…… everytime!

Faces filled and a tantrum from Sue about the short sharp ascent back up onto the beach banks and we were on our way up through the smell of wild garlic and a few smiley bank holiday faces that must have made the trek from Scarborough. Back on the level ground (ish) passed Rodger Trod and another ‘Sue Moaner’ at Salt Pans and a nice view of Cloughton Wyke. Scarborough was in view now and I could taste the post walk pint of cider. The little hut at Long Nab gave us a short view break and a read of the sign relating to the hut. As we left Crook Ness I had a reminder of home, when I say home, I mean my adopted home in east Durham. I don’t want to destroy anyone’s image of this part of the walk but I guess it’s a part of countryside life now meeting a Lurcher closely followed by two traveller ‘wannabes’ looking for an unsuspecting rabbit on the beach banks, and a wake of cannabis fumes as they walked passed with a friendly greeting.

We headed towards Sailors Grave with the sound of the pair with the Lurcher in the background and a view of Scalby Mills and a smack in the mouth with a reality wet fish of brown brick new builds overlooking the North Sea. On the shore were towels and Lilos and the smell of Skunk was replaced by the sewer at Scalby Ness Sands. The volume of tourists increased ten-fold as we walked over Long Nab (2) onto the promenade and colourful beach huts of North Bay Scarborough and Bank Holiday tourists.

A short walk through the holiday hustle and bustle to the car park brought back distant memories of scooter rallies in the 80’s and the welcome sight of my Aygo.

It had been a great day, great walk and yet again great company. Closing in on the end and another ‘Way’ almost complete. Feeling loads better!

Cleveland Way Part 3. Osmotherley to Clay Bank

After a wet day in the Lake District and a good drowning for the majority of the party, we were glad to have a sunny clear day for our next walk out.  So, instead of hitting the A66 we set off down the A19 to continue with our next attack on the Cleveland Way, Osmotherley to Clay Bank.

The number of participants had fallen greatly for this hike in comparison to Place Fell, only the usual four suspects, Dicko, Sue, Kel and me.  After the usual traffic on the A19 we crawled out of a jam just the other side of Stockton, however I had been ‘resting my eyes’ whilst Kel drove and she’d lost sight of Dicko’s Passat in the commotion and when I woke we were well on our way but no sign of our hiking buddies.  My mobile rings and its Dicko enquiring where we were, stating he was on the A172 nearing our destination of Clay Bank whilst we were still blasting down the A19.  We eventually caught up with the others in Stokesley and after a brief micky take in the Co-op car park we were on our way to drop our Aygo off at the view point Clay bank.  At the car park we piled our kit into the Passat hampered by a thin but equally deadly layer of black ice covering the entire area.

We set off for Osmotherley in Dicko’s car and a chance for Kel to show off her new waterproof jacket to the others.  She’d replaced her ‘old’ one after a good drenching on Place Fell where everyone’s waterproofs had been put to the test.  My North Face jacket had stood well against the driving rain/snow on the Ullswater hill with only my over trousers failing me slightly.  My poor wife had basically been soaked through to her knickers, her jacket, which did cost a few bob I might add, might as well as not have been there hence the purchase of yet another expensive piece of kit at Go Outdoors in Penrith.

We arrived in Osmotherley and struggled to park initially which was unusual for this lovely little village on a week day.  We managed to squeeze into a space and began to don our kit and daysacks.  Sue proudly displayed her new daysack and bragged about how much she’d managed to squeeze into it.  I explained that my map pocket was bigger and congratulated Dicko on finding a daysack for his wife that was actually smaller than Kel’s.

We headed north out of the village and the sun was low and bright.  After a quick left turn just as we left the built up area and headed for Chapel Wood Farm, the views were almost immediate stretching eastward.  It’s hard to take photos on this walk because you’re always saying to yourself, “That’s a great view, no that is!”  The path is so definite on this route and it’s very hard to stray.  We headed north again towards South Wood taking the right in the fork at the start of the forest.  As soon as you lose the view to the west the forest clears and the view east opens up across Hither Moor.  On the left as Arncliffe Wood starts you get a wonderful view of a TV station; it sticks out like a pair of dog’s swingers and not the best view of the walk.  The route comes away from the wooded area near Scarth Wood Moor then drop into Clain wood.

The sun was shining bright and the temperature was comfortable as we crossed the track that leads down into Swainby.  We know this gorgeous little village quite well as it’s always were we finish off a good days climbing at Scugdale with a pint and some ‘real’ chips at the pub.  If we don’t retire to the Eden Valley, then Swainby is second on our list so as you can guess we’re both counting down the next ten years.  We pick up the Cleveland Way on the other side of the track and briefly head south east retracing our steps from our Whirl around Whorlton hike two years ago.  After about ‘1 click’ we take a left across a field towards Swine Park and its lovely little beck and its ford and bridge then a weir.  This is a gorgeous little spot that sees its fair share of Snowdrops and other wildlife, and a good place for Dicko to prove even more that his old leather Brashers are better than his fabric Salamons, dry feet!!  As you leave the woods a track up to Hollin Hill is a festival of birdlife, tits (…stop it!), finches, robins, wrens and more Hedge sparrows (heggies) than you can shake a ‘Leki’ at, which all stay with you until the route crosses the back road to Scugdale and the start of a steady incline up hugging the west side of Live Moor Plantation and stunning views left over the flatlands surrounding the area.  Soon the path shoots east and the start of a quick ‘thigh burner’ up though the plantation to the base of Round Hill.

Over the few years we’ve been walking and me been blogging I’ve had to put up with the barrage of jokes and quips from my old mate Dicko about my Yorkshire roots and background.  I know it’s all said in good humor and I take it the way it’s meant.  But from the top of Round Hill and, to be fair, the views from all the routes we’ve done in my beloved county, he cannot fault what he sees.  I mean, after all, he’s from Stanley where you have to make the most of the views before someone nicks ‘em!

As I said the views from the top of Round Hill were amazing and we couldn’t have asked for a clearer day.  We passed an old boy walking the other way nearing the top and again met an example of good old Yorkshire friendliness who stops and has a bit of craic.  We set back off towards the summit with Dicko making the usual jokes about how nice Lancashire people are, Philistine!   Round Hill, Gold Hill and Carlton Moor come and go with again cracking views and the sounds of gunfire in the distance and “Are we nearly there yet?” in the foreground from Sue.  This leg of the CW was quite hilly and I think Sue had set herself up for a flattish walk and was getting a bit flustered by the ‘ups and down’s ‘ presented by this part of the route.  Dicko, the loving hubby that he is likes to ensure his wife there’s only ‘another K left’ giggling as he tucks into his jelly babies….Oooh jelly babies!  The drop down to Lord Stones Café appeared to cheer Sue up slightly; I even think I saw her looking for the car park.  She weren’t too happy when I pointed at the view point at Cringle Moor and told her that’s our next destination.

So, with Sue like a coiled noodle we started up the short but steep accent to the gorgeous views that the top of ‘the Moor’ offers we trudged up a very soggy path.  The wind greeted us with some great views as we quickly headed towards the top of Kirby Bank and some particularly nice looking crags under our feet.  To the south are some lovely looking moorland again, the CW gives way to some great moorland which is one of my favourite terrains.  For some reason I see it like the Falklands for which I have always thought I’d like to visit.  I did have the chance in 1990/91 but decided to freeze my arse off in the Middle East instead sorting tash face Saddam out.  To Sues delight Dicko and I informed her we were on the home stretch and the mood lightened, we carefully negotiated the steep descent from the top of Kirby Bank and set off taking the path between Broughton Bank and the Wainstones, a popular spot for climbers and home of ‘The Steeple and The Needle’.

The main road on Clay Bank was in ear shot and the end of this leg of the Cleveland Way in sight.  There was just a small little descent down to the road where my mate Dicko decided to see how hard the floor was using his arse.  I short squeal from Sue announced to the North Yorkshire moors that her hubby had come up close and personal with the earth.  Everyone within a mile radius turned their head, only us fortunate ones were greeted with a grassy thump and blue air as my mate was helped to his feet by his wife.  Now, you know that feeling when you know you shouldn’t laugh, but due to the amount of injuries acquired by my buddy during our adventures and the fact we’re BOTH not the best side of 40, it’s always a tongue in cheek affair on the rare occasion we become ‘one’ with the land.  He got to his feet quickly and immediately and announced he was ok, thank god for that, now I can laugh!

I giggled to myself as we joined the road and turned left toward the car park and the awaiting Aygo and the sight of my limping mate you disclosed the fall had given him some grief after all to his repairing fractured ankle.

My guilt for laughing at my mate was short lived as we joked in the car on route back to Osmotherley to retrieve the dubiously parked Passat.  Yet another leg of the Cleveland Way complete’ and yet another walk without event.  After all, what would I blog about if it wasn’t for someone’s mishap!

 

Cleveland Way Part 2 – Sutton Bank to Osmotherely

Walking the Cleveland Way has some advantages over other linear walks, because the path is so well used and maintained to a high standard it’s virtually map free, leaving more time to enjoy the views.  Anyway the views were quite breathe taking on our second leg of the CW from Sutton bank to Osmotherley.

I crisp morning met us as we prepared for this long leg of our winter walk.  We packed ‘MY’ daysack into Kel’s new (ish) Aygo and took to the road expecting a nice long wait on the A19 but were pleasantly surprised by the lack of cars as we followed a solo Dicko heading for our first car drop off point at the quaint little village of Osmotherley.  As we pulled into the village square to park up, the pub was in spitting distance which made Kel and Dicko’s day, I however wasn’t so impressed as I was going onto night shift so a post walk pint wasn’t in the mix for me grrrrr!  We hopped into Dicko’s Passat and Capital radio and its minging music.  You’d have thought a gentleman of his years would enjoy Radio 2 like me; however I had to endure chart chaff while Kel and Dicko chatted away.  We pulled into the car park at the top of Sutton Bank and it was Dicko’s turn to get turned over by the parking meter.  Boots on, me and Dicko put our daysacks on and Kel skipped off laden free back onto the most well-kept route I’ve ever seen.

Within a few metres we were back on the top of the cliffs that make up a good part of the CW.  Looking west Sutton Brow gave way to Garbutt Wood revealing Gormire Lake secretly nestled in its trees.  Even on a fairly overcast morning in the North Yorkshire moors the view stretched across to the Pennines that had a cloudy cap.  The route was completely, with us as an exception, hiker free at this point with only a dog walker at the top of South Woods to pass.  The breeze was fresh but not too cold but certainly not t-shirt weather, I was comfortable in a base layer and my trusty Rab jacket.  Kel skipped along in her base layer, fleece and a light body warmer, again all sponsored by Rab.  Sneck Yate Bank was soon up on us as the pace was brisk and with a clear path and no maps we were storming north.  I had to keep looking at the map as I like to know ‘exactly’ where we were, looking at features and fencelines, keeping my mind active as well as looking at the cracking views.  As we approached Sneck I was looking to see the road that crossed the route.  We had stopped as the path forked off and decided what direction to take; a few Jelly Babies had appeared from Dicko’s bottomless Osprey so I was happy.  Sue had passed on her apologies the day before as she could not get time off work to join us, however she had furnished Dicko with a bag of those liquorice sweets with sprinkles on them, Kel calls them ‘Spogs’ for some reason, it’s probably another ‘Pit Yacker’ expression that no one else has ever heard of.  Then, just as we’d decided on the correct path, this wonderful old bloke came walking passed and began to speak to us.  You could tell by his gear he was seasoned, saying he was local he began to explain, step by step our route to Osmotherley.  He knew ever blade of grass, every twist and turn and every incline we’d encounter in the next 9 miles.  He then further impressed me by mentioning AW himself, I’d have thought a born and bred Yorkshireman hardened in the heather, git stoned fells would probably dismiss the Lancashire legend, but the famous 214 were discussed which made me smile.

As we watched the t’old lad bimble off in the direction we had come, I had a second smile at his canvas gaiters and his ‘lightweight olive green trousers’.  I have spent many years in those trousers, not his, in my first few years in the army.  High Paradise Farm brought a couple of treats for us, well Kel in particular, it had a couple of Saddlebacks nuzzling around in their pen.  They paid us some attention before getting stuck back into the undergrowth, the king size bacon butties gave us a last glance as we walked through the farm yard.  To be fair, the farmer did come out to have a bit of craic, apparently the pair of porky pets had knocked out 21 piglets a few days before, of course Kel wanted one but we ushered her away before any deal was sealed.  We carried on towards and knuckled down into Boltby Forest and a considerable drop in temperature.  The festive mood was set alight by the sight of Christmas trees growing and the thought that Kel still won’t allow me to put the tree up back at Hyde Mansions.   Time was getting on and the familiar sound of Tubs’ (Kel, it’s a family nick name nothing to do with her size) tummy rumbling had started to erupt in the grand Yorkshire Moors.  To be fair she’d been dropping hints to stop for food for about a mile but Dicko wasn’t having any on it.  The wind had picked up as we came out of the forest with Little Moor to the east of us, the pace was still good as we followed a path that came surly be seen from the moon it’s so wide and distinctive.  At this point there was a competition looming between Kel’s rumbling stomach and the army Lynx helicopter buzzing the fells on exercise.  Finally we stopped near the disused quarry and the path cross behind a dry stone wall and had lunch.  The only hikers of the day so far came over the moors to the east and bimbled off the way we had come.  Dicko phoned Sue at the office and gloated; she took it well and managed not to swear to much at his attempts to make her jealous.

Sarnies gone and back on track we headed towards the left bend in the route at White Gill Head and along Hambleton Street and a cracking view south west at the route we’d come, quite a distance in a short space of time.  The route drops down quite a bit going passed the forest on Nether Stilton Moor and passed some Grouse Butts to the right, the closest approximately about 50 metres from this well used route, glad they weren’t shooting today!  At Square Corner the route turns left and drops further passed two disused reservoirs and daft question time from my wife.  “Why’s it disused?” she enquires.  “Cos there’s no water in it!” Dicko replied.  I go walking with some sharp tacks I’ll tell ya!

We’ve encountered some inclines in the past which, yeah, we all have ‘view stops’ to catch breath.  But today we had not really climbed much but I saw my friend Dicko looking decidedly hot and bothered, too much wine I thought the night before.  We crossed a tarmac road and pushed towards Whitehouse farm and another cheeky little incline making the old boy puff a bit more.  I was shocked cos for his age he’s still a fit lad and generally can keep up if not storm ahead.  We sneaked across the farm land and down into a small wooded area over a stream then up a few steps.  Kel ran to the top, I trudged up thinking Dicko was hot on my heals.  I turned to check and he’d stopped, face red as a baboons backside and a face that said “I’m goosed!”  We got to the top and sat on a bench which sported a sign saying ‘Paul’s steps’, Dicko looked rough.  The end was in sight as we passed almost through the back gardens of the cottages in Osmotherley, sometimes passing front doors with signs saying ‘Don’t stamp your boots on our drive’.  Ha, obviously the residents have in the past taken exception to muddy ramblers stamping some of the finest Yorkshire soil over their nice clean driveways.  Through one last ‘gennel’ and we were out into the village square of Osmotherley, it was a bit like coming out of the cinema into the daylight.  We dumped out kit into the Aygo and went into the Queen Catherine Hotel for a post walk pint, or diet coke in my case.

As we settled down and ‘de-layed’ it became apparently why Dicko was struggling on the inclines, he took off the best part of ‘Cotswolds’ stock.  Layer after layer of top quality outdoor clothing was thrown across a wooden chair, body warmer, Rab jacket, fleece and then not one base layer but two!  Oh how we laughed, I had a base layer on and my trusty Rab jacket and I was comfortable, he must have been roasting daft bugger.

Another stage completed and another few miles under the belt, plus another head full of stunning views and lessons learnt.  Hopefully the next leg will have a dusting of snow to add to the views, although I don’t think Dicko’s got anymore clothing to wear if it gets colder!

Cleveland way part 1, Helmsley to Sutton Bank

With the night’s drawing in and the days getting shorter and shorter, day trips to the Lakes to bag Wainwrights is near impossible.  So about this time every year closer, more practical quests are sought with equally satisfying hikes and views.  We’ve completed the Teesdale and Weardale Ways in the past winters, so after great deliberation with our pal Dicko and his long suffering wife Sue, the Cleveland Way looked favourite.  It has everything to ask, hills, coastal paths and only half hour down the A19, plus I get to visit god’s country….Yorkshire!!

For those who don’t know the Cleveland Way it is basically a massive horseshoe up and around the North Yorkshire moors starting at Helmsley and ending in sunny Filey, 110 miles later.  We’ve planned to complete it over the winter, hopefully.

We’d arranged for the Dickinson’s to meet us a ours about half seven giving us enough time to get down the A19 for a fairly early start at Helmsley, but like all linear walks, two cars are needed and  drop a car off at the end, Sutton bank, to ferry us back to the start.

I would’ve preferred to get straight to Sutton Bank quickly to make a good start, I thought we’d sit on the A19 for an hour with loads of other cars and listen to Kel swearing at radio DJ’s for daring to talk in between records whilst attacking my vulnerable Aygo ‘sound system’ with her ever increasingly forceful fore finger.  For the love of god, can anyone who reads this blog and works for the highways dept, please add another lane to the A19 between Newcastle and Stockton.  Rant over and eventually we went from bumper to bumper to just our two vehicles on the road as we drove passed the sign for ‘North Yorkshire’ and clean air.  I’ve driven on this road a few times and the climb up Sutton Bank is a test for most vehicles, especially HGV’s who take the road at their own risk. 

We arrived in fairly good time in the car park at the top of Sutton Bank to leave my car and to jump in Dicko’s car to head to Helmsley, not before Dicko jumping out of his car to run to the toilets and me getting fleeced by the parking meter.  Ticket displayed and Dicko’s bladder still full (toilets closed) we sped off to Helmsley and a chance for Kel and Sue to catch up on hair length only to realise they were both wearing the exact same clothing, ha!

Arriving in gorgeous Helmsley we found a parking spot outside the church after avoiding another parking meter dressed in a striped top wearing a mask.  Boots donned and we had a look at the castle before we headed towards the start of the Cleveland Way.  The hiking gods had graced us with ideal weather, very sunny with a chill in the air.  The night had been freezing and the frosted grass and the frozen puddles gave testament to the low temperatures that had sneaked in overnight.  Unfortunately Dicko managed to find one of these frozen puddles, I had an early scare with a minor skate across some frosty leaves, but the sound of my friend’s arse hitting the tarmac after hitting one of these puddles was initially concerning as he’s just got over a broken ankle, but a quick recovery turned my concern to micky taking and the start of our new fall count of the winter, 1-0-0-0!

Photos taken near the impressive stone monument at the start of this famous walk, we started the leg.   We headed west out of the town straight out into the farmland and the muddy, but frozen, tracks sneaking up between the fields interrupting various varieties of cattle as they grazed on the frozen grass.  The pace was brisk, Dicko’s attempt to warm everyone up I think but it was welcome as the cold nipped at my hands.  The sun was beating down leaving frost in the shadows of fences and heavy hedgerows.  But the mild breeze still carried a minus temperature and hands were firmly placed in pockets.  My constant obs (observations) of my wife are always a pleasant pass time; I think from my army days I need to supplement my love of the scenery with the want to look after someone, Kel is a wonderful distraction!  The night before our walk she had placed all the kit she needed in my daysack, I’m not bothered on these walks as we not too high.  She had a massive smile on her face as she was daysack free and had a skip in her step, which always makes me smile.  However, the usual daysackless Sue had been told by Dicko she had to wear hers today, she hates wearing it and will normally put all her waterproofs on rather than carry it, but today the spring in Kel’s step was only equalled by the slump in Sue’s back.

We reached Blackdale Howl wood which blocked the sun and sent the temperature plummeting down as the path regained its cold hard surface, which was briefly softened going through the exposed fields.  Before you get to Whinney bank wood Griff Lodge appears on the right, god what a gorgeous place to live, the view from the south facing window must be incredible, damn those that live there, ha ha!  Quarry bank wood drops you down onto a small road which takes you to within touching distance of Rievaulx Abbey, or what’s left of it.  One of the good things about the winter low level walks is some of the buildings you come across, this abbey looked particularly grand but all we did was look from afar across the cow field, yep, a cow field!  That was Kel sorted for a few minutes looking at the baby ‘Cooos’ while we stood like spare parts on the road.  Dicko produced some jelly babies which was very welcome while Sue produced some liquorice allsorts that managed to distract Kel from the beef.  We set off across a lovely little bridge crossing an equally stunning stream which also had a cottage siding onto the cold running water, another house on my ‘retire to’ list.  It’s becoming a very big list!

The path stuck to the road for some time, I noticed a large amount of large, posh 4 x 4’s passing us with what looked like very grand looking people in them dressed in tweed.  Back in the forest on Bridge Road the population of pheasants seemed to soar, they were everywhere!  They did their usual trick of running like mad instead of flying away, which as I’ve mentioned before would be my choice of getting about at this time of year for game birds, take to the wing and you could be looking down the business end of a 12 bore held by Harry the Spaniel’s dad.  We passed a few ponds on our right with the world’s supply of mallards, we were obviously in game shooting country.  We hit a cross roads in the route and entered Callister Wood and time for bait.  The owners have provided a wooden bench which was very welcome.  Sue produced an array of lovely sandwiches which Dicko obviously complained about, even though he ate.  I had my lovely broth and some ham and cheese sarnies which went down well.  I didn’t sit down like the others as I’m still waiting for Christmar to get my body warmer that the others don on the breaks to keep them warm, so I scoffed stood up and I wasn’t long before we were back on the path and heading up to Cold Kirby.  It’s a steepish rise up through the forest into the sunshine.  The route was littered with the carcases of various game birds which strengthened my shooting area theory, me and Dicko suggested a day shooting which I thought was a cracking idea, if we were both millionaires as they charge thousands for the day as far as I know.  Maybe clay pigeon shooting is more our bag.

We strolled through Cold Kirby like kids in a sweet shop, pointing at different cottages and houses saying, “I’d have that one, no that one, no that one!”  I think Sue was eyeing up different properties for when Dicko retires soon, I am of course in full support of them spending his ‘lumper’ on a cottage in the countryside!

We pushed on to Cote Moor and our first sighting of deer this winter, another benefit of low level winter walks.  The pair of Does (I think) were stood on the track in Hotel plantation that gave us about 30 seconds of their attention before running off into the forest, not before Kel could get a long distance piccy with her phone.  We crossed the A170 onto High Town Bank Road and made our way down the road towards the Gliding Club and had the pleasure of seeing a few of the flimsy planes taking off and coming into land.  Dicko expressed his desire to go up in one of these toy planes, I admit I do have a hatred for flying in planes, I can spend all day in a helicopter no problem but not planes.  Plus, these gliders have collapsible wings which get closed down to transport them.  If you can collapse them on the ground, they can collapse at 10,000 feet so no thanks.  The route leads you to the top of the famous white horse land mark.  You can’t actually get the gist of the horse from the top but there’s an info board near its ear if you wanna know the craic.  Continue the route towards Knowlson Drop you’re in for a treat, there’s an info board with a painting from Turner, and the view is breath taking.  It’s one of the views in the area where the industrial area isn’t in view, it’s gonna give an appearance later on in the walk which I might mention.  The view of Sutton bank from the top shows the scale of the accent for vehicles, no wonder it’s had so many vehicles grind to a halt hallway up.

We got back to my Aygo a few minutes later and the sun was still blazing down on us.  My car very rarely gets passengers in the back so 4 sweating adults steamed my windows up straight away.  Sue’s bickering with her having to use her daysack continued into the car back to Helmsley and into the pub for our post walk pint.

A good start to this part of the walk, the weather was great, company good as always and the views were absolutely stunning.  It’s great to be back in Yorkshire, I’ve done a few walks on this route in the later stages a few years ago, the eastern side of the horseshoe is fairly demanding but fulfilling.  Stay tuned for the next few miles.

 

In and around Aysgarth, North Yorkshire

With the cold weather here we thought we’d have look for some snow for a nice walk to stretch our legs.  Our good friends Dicko and Sue were staying in the village of Aysgarth in North Yorkshire for Dicko’s 50^th birthday, so we thought we’d have a drive down and have a stroll on the Yorkshire moors.

We met them in the George and Dragon pub car park where they were staying, Kel was extra excited as it was the first outing for her new walking boots.  We donned our kit and set off through the village.  Aysgarth is one of those villages where you want to live in all the houses.  The path brings you up close and personal with the windows of the houses and you just can’t help staring in to admire the real fires and the Inglenook stoves which give off the sweet smelling  smoke pouring out of the chimneys.   A couple of the gardens were already sporting daffodil shoots and the Snowdrops where well and truly in bloom.

As we headed west the road forks and so we took the left turn onto the road heading for Thornton Rust.  Here a few more barn conversions and original buildings have the pleasure of looking out over Wensleydale.  After a couple of hundred metres we took a left and joined a track which took us up past the reservoir and then right onto Flout Moor Lane heading west.  We were all in good spirits and Kel was happy with her choice of boots.  A few jokes were flying about how she could’ve been sponsored by ‘RAB’ for the walk, but she wasn’t bothered as she was ‘toastie’.  The lane had a slight climb hidden within and the nip in the air which had accompanied us at the start now gave way to red faces and a thick layer of condensation across Dicko’s black ‘Dut’!  Now, people have their own view on farmers, I think they do graft but don’t particularly have a great deal of love for hikers.  Whilst walking up the track we encountered probably the grumpiest farmer.  He buzzed past us in his tractor with a face like thunder, I gave my usual wave but the look he gave back was like I had just rogered his prize Saddleback!  Even his trusty Border Collie following up behind the tractor didn’t have a nice word to say.

We plodded on to the next gate, and this is where it happened, my mouth got me into bother with Sue.  We encountered a big wooden gate with a chain and hook to secure it, a bog standard obstacle that every hiker negotiates on every walk.  I walked up to it and casually tried to lift the hook out of the ring on the fence post.  I tried, and tried, and tried and could I hell get the hook out of the ring.  Dicko caught up and he tried to lift the gate up, push the gate down to give me more purchase, but the freezing hook would not come out of the ring.  Minutes before we had seen the farmer open and close the gate with ease, so we both thought he had done some underhand trick to hinder our access.  So we both stood there cursing Victor Meldrew in his tractor and telling the girls they had to scale the gate due to the farmer’s actions.  Sue however, calmly walked up to the gate and inspected the conundrum.  I stood and informed her that if two decent size blokes couldn’t shift it, a mere female with short legs would never manage.  Needless to say she lifted the gate and removed the hook with ease!  From now on, I will carry a bottle of ketchup so that when I have to eat my words, it will be more pleasurable.

I cracked on while Sue basically made me my 6’ 3’’ frame look about 3’’ tall with well-deserved abuse in relation to my comments.  Anyway, we cracked on and my frame was rebuilt as I easily strode over the ford at the next bend and Sue, doing an aeroplane impression, struggled to cross, but this time I kept my mouth shut.

We walked up to Haw Head and entered the snow line.  A good 3 inches of snow covered the ground and the Red Grouse escorted our route with their familiar shrill and their bunny hopping the white moorland before us.  We dropped down into Gayle Ing Beck and met a couple who I had been watching with my bino’s for some time on the horizon.  When I say watching I don’t mean in a pervy way.  I’m a sado when it comes to footpaths, I saw the couple walking on what was quite obviously a non-marked footpath in the distance.  When we met at the style in the Beck they said they had lost the path due to the snow.  We had a bit of a giggle with them and assured them if they followed our tracks they’ll stay on track.  Toilet stop for me but the rest cracked on and I climbed up to Brown-A-Haw while they had a break at the top.

I could feel the temperature had dropped quite a bit but the climb had warmed everyone up.  We crossed a stile and headed for Stake Road, still escorted by the red Grouse and their silence breaking call.  Stake Road was a much defined path and the join with our path was clearly marked with a small cairn, marking the junction.  Again, being a sado o saw the boot prints of the couple we had met in the snow and they appear to have missed the cairn completely causing them to take a right turn across the Side Well moor and an undefined route.

So, this is where the fun started, the track was littered with potholes and dips in the surface making perfect place for big puddles….big puddles frozen over and covered with snow.  Now, due to a dodgy right knee I use a stick for descents so I had a prodder to test the ground before I tread.  Dicko and I blazed the trail while Kel and Sue chattered away about 15m behind.  So while we hop skipped and jumped the hidden death traps, Kel and Sue played Russian Roulette with the snow covered terrain.  Needless to say they both finished the track with about a foot of mud and ice up their legs which made the gate incident feel better.

The track into Thoralby was slippy and muddy which was littered with spotted horses and elusive Kestrels.  We trudged into the village and decided to have a break at the Village Inn….which was shut!  We sat on the well-kept benches outside and I had my home made Butternut Squash soup.  There was a notice outside the pub which said, “Leave your boots outside”, seemed strange considering the area.  We carried on into West Burton and another drama.  I cannot for the life of me remember the pubs name, but we walked into the foyer and Dicko peeked his head into the empty pub.  He asked the usual question, “we alright with our boots on?”, the answer will astonish me forever, considering the area, “well, the obvious answer would be,would you wear them in your own living room?”  Needless to say we left and duly informed the next hiker of the pubs restrictions.

We walked down Eshington Lane slightly then climbed up to Flatlands and negotiated a series of stiles made for anorexics to head back Into Aysgarth and a pint of Blacksheep and a final slagging from Sue about the gate incident.

I love Yorkshire and its views but I’m torn between ‘The Lakes’ and the Dales.  Obviously, I’m a Yorkshire lad so the Dales should weigh heavily in favour.