A pair of walking shoes: £60. One backpack: £50. Pub meals every night: umm….can’t remember but we paid way too much, I’m sure. Smelling the sea breeze as The North Sea comes into view: PRICELESS.
Sixteen days. Two hundred miles. Fells and dales. England traversed from the Irish Sea to the North Sea. We made it. An ok effort for a 37 year old. Brilliant effort for a 70 year old. No blisters. No whinging. Not too many wrong turns. I think we did alright.
It may have been the last day, but old AW was not going to let us off lightly and allow for a leisurely stroll in Robin Hood’s Bay. Oh no. We were going to have to work for that honour. And that work was going to start right off the bat. The day’s 15.5 miles (34kms) began with a steep and steady climb out of Grosmont which saw us on our way and back onto moorland. The next little village on the trail was Little Beck. My kind of town! I knew there had to be some place somewhere in the world named after me. The spelling may not have been quite right, but lets not quibble over details. It’s hard to imagine the importance of the place during the booming alum mining times, with just a few little houses making up the village today. Over the River Esk and a right turn saw us into Little Beck Wood, a very picturesque meander. Hansel and Gretel kind of territory. AW had taken us a bit out of our way going here, but I thought it was worth it, although Whitby had been in our sights all day and we had been disappointed not to have had the opportunity to visit the town made famous by Captain Cook. Some (not mentioning any names here….Mum) may even go to the extent of calling the old man “dopey” for not having the coast to coast walk go more directly from Grosmont straight to Whitby and finish there. Would have saved us 10 miles and quite a few hills. But like I said, AW was to make us earn our rite to the title of Coast to Coasters. The forest walk was to take us past such interesting little curios as the Hermitage built in 1790. It is really just a hollowed out boulder with a mysterious past. Another little structure with perfect acoustics. The couple walking up the path behind us said the sound they heard emanating from The Hermitage was beautiful. They may have been just being polite, but they looked like honest folk.
Next it was onto the tea room hidden in the forest, but low and behold it was closed!! We did get a good view of the very elegant Falling Foss though. This is a fairy-like waterfall, perfect and cute.
Another big hill climb saw us out of the forest and back onto the moors. The first part was easy enough, but the further we went, the worse the way markers got. Now, some people may call our next situation something along the lines of getting a tad lost. I, on the otherhand like to call such situations an adventure. An adventure along the busy A171 rather than the idillic fields. Of course the path was taken on purpose. I know how much Mum had enjoyed the A19 crossing, so I wanted to give her another similar experience before the walk was over. We got to Hawsker in one piece (just!), so I really don’t see what the problem was. I’m sure Mum will continue to show me where I went wrong for the next year or five.
All that was now left to do was track through a caravan park to make it to the actual coastline. Woo hoo! A few trekkers (well, one in particular) were heard complaining that the coast was not as pretty as Australia’s and why on earth do we need to walk along it. It was really quite fine and photogenic with plenty of wild blackberries to be found, which slowed progress a little. So yummy! The many hills also slowed our weary feet, but then, there it was in view. Robin Hood’s Bay!! Not the prettiest of sites but a very welcome one indeed. One last big decent saw us in the tiny town with its winding lanes. It was a lot prettier up close. We walked to the beach and were surprised to be “welcomed” by about a thousand English and their dogs. We’d never seen so many people in such an average seaside setting. It was quite funny. I’m not quite sure why the phrase, “Mad dogs and Englishmen” came to mind at this point. Hmmmm. After a quick giggle, it was time to officially end our walk by throwing our pebbles from the Irish Sea at St Bees into the North Sea and getting our feet wet. We didn’t realise how very very fast the tide comes in here and our abandoned backpacks also received a watery blessing. But by this time we were unperterbed. Tradition then says that you have to make your way to the cliffside Bay Hotel, walk into Wainright’s Bar and have a drink. Can you believe they don’t serve champagne by the glass here??? Being lightweights, a bottle was not within our capacity, so we had to settle for a spirit and a cider. There’s also a special book in the bar which everyone who walks the Coast to Coast signs. It was interesting to see the names of some fellow walkers, and wonder at the whereabouts of a few others. And there, just like that, our adventure was over. Mission complete. But then, tomorrow is another day. Perhaps this is just the beginning! More than likely, I think.
We had to catch a bus back to Richmond to pick up the car and it was a little disconcerting to cover the ground that had taken a week to walk in just two hours. We passed many familiar places. It was a bit like dying and watching your life flash before your eyes. But backwards. As we passed Roseberry Topping, which has become a bit of a favourite landmark, it took us all our time not to get the driver to stop the bus and allow us a quick accent. Oh well. Maybe next time. Good to know our enthusiasm is still there!
