England Coast to Coast - North Yorkshire Moors

The rain was coming down steadily on the fifth day as we left the warm luxury of Swinton Park. It was still raining hard an hour’s van ride later when Alan abandoned us to the bleakness of Thimbleby Moor. With a smile and a cheerful word from Bill we headed out for the day’s walk over the very wet Arden Moor. I had sort of imagined walking through England in a light drizzle. I come from California, we don’t go out when it rains, and in June it doesn't rain. I brought a rain jacket, it packs up real small and it's windproof but it wasn’t meant for an all day downpour. My boots were made to be lightweight, not waterproof, my pants though quickdrying and stylish were also not meant for walking in the rain. However I had an incredible Barbour hat, which most definitely is made for the rain. That hat saved me, it kept me so completely warm and dry I almost didn’t notice I was completely soaked.

Even in a group it is a solitary experience walking over the moor in the rain. This is what Jane Eyre must have felt like when she fled Thornfield Hall. We saw no one else as foolish as we were, and there was something beautiful about the loneliness. Much of the area we walked through is owned by wealthy landowners who charge tens of thousands of dollars for shooting parties. The shooters set up at stands down the slope while a line of people flush pheasants and grouse out of the brush toward them. The idea being that the shooters guns have to be pointed up, hitting the birds and not the people. During the day many pheasants and grouse flew up before us. Unlike the Ruffed Grouse of the American Northeast the grouse (sp?) we saw did not make a drumming sound with their wings though they were very vocal in trying to distract us from finding their chicks.

From the windy moor we came down into the warmth of the village of Hawnby. The drenched group of walkers stepped out of the rain into the Inn at Hawnby for lunch which included a much needed bowl of soup. The afternoon's walk took us along the river Rye to the Abbey at Rievaulx. The magnificence of such a place is astounding. The arches tower above as you walk among the ruined halls imaging the life of the monks who toiled there. It was all the more spectacular as we were the only visitors at the time and able to take in the serenity without intrusion. One has to wonder how Henry VIII could have destroyed such a place. Due to the rain there are no pictures. Not looking through the lens of a camera allowed me to walk peacefully among the ruins without distraction and in the end I'm glad I wasn't busy taking pictures.

After tea and cake in the café we headed back out on the trail. A few more miles brought us to the town of Helmsley our night’s stopping point. Apparently there is a castle in Helmsley I don't remember seeing it, though I'm not sure how we could have missed it. Helmsley was the largest town we had come through so far, a proper town with shops and a statue in the middle of the large market square. The Black Swan, our home for the night was right on the town square. I really liked this inn, for being in the middle of town it was very quiet and the table at dinner was smaller making it easier to talk to everyone.

Friday mornings there is a market in the Helmsley town square and our day started half an hour later so we could explore it. Unfortunately the torrential downpour took most of the enjoyment out of walking around Helmsley. At 9:30 we climbed into the van and drove to Pickering to board the North Yorkshire Moors Railroad for a steam train ride to Grosmont. While waiting for departure Alan suggested we go up to check out the engine. We went up to the front of the train and Alan asked the men stoking the furnace if I could throw some coals into it. Is she careful the fireman asked? Yes I’m careful (obviously he doesn't know me). All right then. I very excitedly climbed into the engine. The fireman dragged a few chunks of coal from the bin onto the floor and handed me the shovel. I spent the next ten minutes happily stoking coal into the blazing furnace. I never imagined I would be throwing coal into a train engine in Yorkshire; that moment was worth the whole price of the trip. For the ride through the misty moors we returned to a restored coach car and enjoyed a cup of tea. Sticking my head out the window with the wind, rain and steam in my face I was most content to be riding a train and not walking that morning.

About an hour later we disembarked at Grosmont. The speed demon Sir Nigel Gresley was at the platform and the engine let out a torrent of hissing steam as the brakes were released. From Grosmont the path took us along the overflowing River Esk to lunch in Aislaby. The Huntsman sported a very welcoming coal fire by which to warm up and dry out a bit. Fish and chips was the meal of the moment if we wanted to try the English staple, this was the place. Eventually Bill and Alan dragged us away from the cozy room and we headed off on our last stint of walking.

I thought the rain would surely let up in the afternoon, but it didn’t. Headed toward Whitby we trod a pilgrim’s path of flagstones of which there are several laid out like spokes leading to Whitby Abbey. The water poured down the flagstones in a small stream making for a slippery route. Treacherous footing wasn't our only obstacle. We crossed a busy road passed through a gate only to see the field ahead of us had been recently plowed and turned into several acres of deep mud. Bill stopped momentarily and declared we would have to walk around on the road. We headed down a nearby lane and in front of us were two cars stopped before a small lake which had formed across the road. A lady on the other side called across to us “I hope you’ve brought your wellies!” The water was about chest high and rubber boots wouldn’t have helped. After some fruitless consultation with the drivers of the cars Bill led us slowly back up the lane pondering how to get where we needed to be. He soon found a gate nearly hidden in a hedge and went ahead across the field to check that we would indeed be able to get across the stream that was between us and our destination. Very quickly we were back on track.

After cresting a hill, suddenly the North Sea was crashing below us. What a sight after six days of walking across the hills and dales to see the sea. Down a small road, around a bend and we were at Sandsend, our walk complete. Alan had made a sign in stones on the beach “Well Don” he hadn’t time to get the “e” on as we always arrived ahead of schedule! The whole group exuberantly ran down to the water and let the frigid North Sea wash over our already soaked feet. The stormy weather only added to the excitement as the waves behind us crashed up over the roadway and left us only a small stretch of sand on which to have a celebratory cup of champagne. Everyone felt an enormous sense of accomplishment, not just because we had walked so far for so many days but because we had enjoyed the walking and each other every step of the way.

Rather than walk on to Dunsley Hall, the evening’s stopping point, we decided to take a ride into the town of Whitby. Alan dropped us off in the village and always up to a challenge the four walkers climbed the 199 steps to the Whitby Abbey, though without Bill we had to find our own way. The abbey, famous as the inspiration for the setting of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, was closed for the day but high above the sea it was a fitting end for the journey.

Our group had one last dinner together where everyone agreed it had been such an incredibly wonderful experience we couldn’t even begin to put together a speech that would accurately describe our feelings or convey our thanks to the guides. Bill mentioned he was impressed that through all the rain there was not one complaint, and I have to say I was pretty proud of that myself.

The seventh morning began and ended with a melancholy ride to the Darlington train station where we all said goodbye. It was a shock to be back amongst the frenzied pace of civilization. Every moment of the Coast to Coast Walk was absolutely perfect. For a whole week each day I was exhausted, happy, healthy, often wet and I can’t wait to do it again!


England C2C: Prologue; Lake District; Yorkshire Dales
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