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!

Dog walk around Richmond

Due to me having to still be a bit wary in relation to my hernia op and been told to take it easy for a couple of months and the puppy still only allowed to do limited walks,  we decided to have a quick jaunt to Yorkshire and looked at a little walk on the river Swale at Richmond and make the most of the quiet as all the tourists will be lining the streets and roads in and around Harrogate for the Tour De France.  We parked at the train station and much to our surprise, and joy, the parking was free.

It was a short walk planned so no daysacks or boots, just my bag (or man bag as Kel calls it) full of bait and water.  Plus my Binos that haven’t seen the light of day for a long time, just in case I get to see a Kingfisher up close.  We set off across Mercury Bridge with the sun beating down and started a short incline up towards the market square.  It was absolutely dead and we didn’t see anyone until we joined the bottom of the square where a buzz of market life kicked in.  We decided to have a look at the church and the obelisk but the church was covered in scaffolding and the monument was surrounded by non cyclist lovers who probably had the same thoughts as us.  By the way, I am a lover of cycling but thought i’d give the TDF a miss and try and get my walking legs back.

We reached the top of the square and turned left down towards New Road and Bridge Street.  Over the bridge and then there’s a gorgeous cottage on the right where the ‘Round Howe Nature Trail’ starts.  Looking at the well kept info board there is a couple of trails set out paths up into the woods then drop back down into the Swale which take in a couple of miles.  Alfie, our new walking partner and gorgeous Springer pup, was keen to get off lead and explore the the steep banks running up the side of the ‘fastest river’ in the area.  The wild garlic was dying off in this heavily shaded, mulch paved well kept walk through the woodland that hugged the side of the river.  He’s (Alfie) getting more and more like a Spaniel every day, breaking the trail, seeking and finding lines and flushing birds from the undergrowth, he’s not actually chasing ‘prey’ like rabbits just ‘pointing’ at them.  Anyway we gradually rose up towards the top of Low Bank Wood disturbing a bird of prey that made off before identification from the ground, which we’d see later in the walk.  Alfie tested our puppy parental tolerance by dangling off sheer face drops down to the river as we ascended still in earshot of the noisy rapids.  However, being Springer parents the insurance docs are easily to hand and realise that you have to expect the unexpected with a Springer.  

A green wooden bridge took us to the surrounding fields and a glimpse of the Kestrel we’d disturbed earlier. Back down towards to the bend in the river between Low bank Wood and Billy Bank Wood.  Joining the river was a joy as an ideal pebbled beach greeted us for a spot of bait.  The river at this point was shallow with plenty of crossing points and wading areas to explore.  We plonked ourselves down on the riverside rocks and tucked into our sarnies and crisps whilst Alfie dug for pebbles to ease his aching puppy gums.  After I snorted my ham and salami pitta bread butties I had a wade out, the water was warm and it wasn’t long before Alfie had a little swim out in Yorkshire water for the first time, watched by Kel who was still fuming at the amount of ‘lumps’ in the pickle in her sarnies.

After we’d eaten we made our way back towards the bridge on the man made footpath on the rivers edge.  It’s a series of massive rock slabs placed side by side which was a nice change from the woody mulch on the forest footpath, however, the big chunks of rock were a bit slippy in places so care had to be taken otherwise you could end up on your backside or in the river.

We approached the bridge and decided to stay on the footpath over the other side and passed a cricket pitch with quite literally hundreds of rabbits, mostly babies running about being carefully watched over by a handful of crows, probably waiting to catch a lone bunny.  The walk then took in a couple of meadows that overlook the river which, with the added sun made a pleasant short stroll and as we walked under Mercury Bridge we were greeted with a great looking beach on the bend of the river, a good place for a BBQ or picnic.

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.

 

Boots

There aren’t many bits of kit that you carry or wear that doesn’t serve a practical purpose, in fact apart from little mascots and good luck charms I can’t think of anything on my body or in my daysack that isn’t important and is possibly lifesaving.  When I can, I like to spend a bit more money when replacing gear as I am a great believer in the saying, ‘buy cheap, buy twice’ and after all the difference of £30 on a pair of waterproof trousers may save you years of soaking wet legs.

Recently I have decided that one of the most important items of walking kit I own needs replacing. They have served me well and we’ve been on many adventures together I feel almost sad to have to replace my boots! 

I remember the day like yesterday when I ordered my trusty Merrell’s, 15 years ago I was sat at in my flat in Osnabruck, Germany looking at my Karrimor KSB’s thinking they looked knackered and sick of endlessly having to treat them.  To be fair they too had served me well, many a time they’ve been battered and bruised up and down Pen y Fan and Snowdon.  They had survived hiking around places like Oman, Norway, Italy and a 3 week expedition to the Rockies.  But the time had come to replace them and as I had the extra 20% off when ordering from abroad and being in the forces I thought now was the best time.  I decided to come away from my normal fabric boot and try the leather, so browsing through my latest Cotswold catalogue I studied hard.  Many friends had leather boots and swore by them, and when we’d been out together wading through the streams of south Wales and falling through frozen becks they seemed to come out with feet nice and dry, I used to say my feet were ok too but in all honesty there were sometimes my socks were less then dry and toasty.  Scarpa had, and still does, a great reputation I was swaying towards them as they had a few leather boots that looked the part.  But tucked away at the bottom of a page was a nice looking pair of Merrell’s.  I’d heard of Merrell but all the talk was ‘Scarpa’ and did I dare go off the beaten track and order these lovely looking boots.  Now you have to remember the internet wasn’t as popular as it is now so I’d have to send off the order form and wait ages for the delivery, about 3 weeks!!  So I decided to phone in the order cutting down the wait to 2 weeks, it’s a week less that’s all I was bothered about.

Less than a fortnight passed before I went to BFPO 36 to collect a boot box shaped parcel and the start of a great relationship.  I couldn’t wait so I sat in my silver Ford Puma (also tax free) and unwrapped the paper and gazed on my new boots.  “Jesus Christ how f**kin big are they?!” I seem to remember thinking as I held the massive leather structures up and stared.  The tread looked like a land rover tyre and they weighed a ton.  But, after a bit and after feeling inside I grew to love them and they were to take me through thousands of miles of walking.

They’re first outing I can remember was a steady 12 mile blast around the forests near Osnabruck, a regular low level haunt for squaddies training for P company and SAS selection, not too many hills but lots of fallen trees and mud…. lots of mud! Even though they felt heavy in the hand, they didn’t feel much different weight wise to my KSB’s, and the good thing was, my feet were dry.

Year 2000 saw me back in the UK and pounding the Yorkshire moors and miles and miles of hills and heather.  And all these boots needed were a good clean and a polish with boot polish to keep them in good working order, no need for ‘spray from 12 inches away and leave to dry for 2 hours blah blah blah’.  The uppers kept that lovely brown battered look and the tread, which initially shocked me, was still deep and going strong.

So back to present day and the last few fells in the lakes, as well as completing the Teesdale Way and the Weardale Way, have been testing, the tread has started to disappear and the slips have become far too often and when you’re trying to scurry across edges and coming down spiky rocky crags, you can’t take chances.  So from the first walk in the lakes up Skiddaw, and completing 73 Wainwrights, the Fairfield horse shoe saw the last outing for my trusty Merrell’s who can now rest.

I’ve had a good time over the last 15 years with my old boots; they’ve seen ice, rain and sun.  They’ve had to wade through all manner of faeces and have seen peat from a couple of feet below the surface on a number of times.  They’ve out lived countless lace changes but I’ve never had to repair the body.  Let’s hope the ones I replace them with are just as trustworthy.

Now, time to do some shopping!

Whirl around Whorlton

I suppose the best thing about working weekends is you have the chance on the week day rest days, to avoid the crowds and shoot off to the hills. Kel got a little AA box of walks in North Yorkshire for Christmas so we chose a walk around the crags where we climb in the summer, Barkers Crags near Swainby.

We parked next to the stream in Swainby and donned our boots and brand new gators, which were Christmas prezzies. We know the lovely little village quite well, the Blacksmiths is our chosen pub for a post climb pint.  The place was quite busy and there was a line of cars all the way up the road and walkers already plodding about.

Kel was trying out her new streamline day sack seeing as we weren’t going to scale any mountains. This day sack is quite unique, it consists of stuffing all her wet weather and warm kit into my day sack so I can carry it all!

So we set off heading south through the village, passed the lovely houses that line the road. As usual the air is full with, “ooooh look at that one” and “Oooh can you imagine living there!” when we pass houses way out of our price range. We reach the right hand bend and carry on straight up a track where at the top join the Cleveland Way.

  I’ve been on the Cleveland Way just a handful of times and I always find it very well kept. This was no exception; the signs look like they’re made by Pinocchio’s dad and the path is so prominent it can be seen from the moon.

We went left and walked through Clain Wood, overlooking Scugdale, the views were awesome. We also got a look at Round Hill and Barker’s Crag looking up the valley.  In the sun it was quite warm (ish) but in the woods the temperature dropped quite a bit.

There was no doubt of the route at this stage as the sign posts hit us with a fanfare saying “Cleveland Way”, we turned left into a field full of sheep and back into the sunshine. Footing became a bit dodgy and I chuckled to myself wondering when Kel’s first fall of the year would be. We re-entered the wood to cross a shallow Scugdale Beck.  Kel spotted a small weir and seeing as we decided not to bring the big camera (something else I’d have to carry) she decided to try out her ‘delayed shutter speed’ app on her iPhone.  The problem being, no tripod!  Now, as it was past lunch time, Kel’s hands would be a bit shaky. That glass of Pinot was hours away so steady hands were hours away too. Needless to say the photo was a bit hazy and we plodded on through the stream. We did notice Snowdrops starting to push their heads through the frosty soil and some buds appearing on the trees.  

We plodded up Hollin Hill towards the main road, which we’ve driven up countless times to Barker’s Crag, we crossed the T junction on another sign post pointing us onto the Cleveland Way that you would never miss. We took in the smell of the freshly cut Pine and pushed up a slight accent around the Live Moor Plantation. We then took a right through the woods onto Knolls End to start up Round Hill.  As we came out of the woods we spotted a really well kept information board regarding the hill, it’s privately owned so respect the hill!

 

As we rose we had to negotiate the gauntlet of Red Grouse and the view became breath taking. On our right, Roseberry Topping dominated the skyline, however, there’s a slight glitch in the panoramic pleasure, Middlesbrough and Teesport.  These are to the east coast, like dog shit on your golfing green, something you have to put up with.

 

There’s a big Cairn at the top which, like the Cleveland Way, is well built and I swear symmetrical.

Photos done, we drop back down the other side and re-join the plantation. At this point it’s always good to be behind Kel, the decent is always a tongue in cheek time. Boggy peat and piles of sheep droppings are always prime spots for ‘ bambi on ice’ to hit the deck.  But she kept on her feet, not without a few Jesus impressions with her arms but the slate was clean, and so was her backside.

 

We made it through the forest and joined a track which took us to Whorl Hill Wood. Again, wepassed houses we could never afford and a radio banging out Spandau Balllet by work women we took a left into the woods. Around the hill and it comes out at Whorl Hill Farm where you take a left up a track to a locked……..yes, locked gate!

We scaled the metal gate and made our way over the fields to another field with some bulls in, luckily I had my walking pole so any bother a cheeky poke will sort any beef related problems.

 We joined the road through Whorlton with the picturesque church on the left with loads of arches when I say loads I mean loads of arches!! That’s Kel sorted for ten minutes while I try and clean my boots. She loves arches!

 

We carried on down the road and Whorlton Castle was on the right on the top of the hill, just where you’d find a castle.  It’s well-kept and access is easy through the front gate.

Ok, since coming down from the hill, the Blacksmith’s has been in both our thoughts, I fancied a nice pint of the local brew, Kel however had been banging on about the home made chips we like there, so the pace sped up through the east side of Swainby towards the car. Going over the little bridge and the low flying Mallards, we walked to the car where we quick time changed our footwear and jumped in.

With thoughts of food and ale in our minds and looking like we’d slept with coat hangers in our mouths  we pulled into the pub car park……a closed pub …… we left!  Needless to say the air was blue!

Gorgeous walk with good views, I love Yorkshire!