TGOC 2016 Shakedown: Cleveland Way

Preamble

Doing the TGO Challenge last year (2015) was hard graft from day one – I just had not been able to put enough time into training. I ended up 'walking wounded', limping home feeling rather poorly and sorry for myself, and took a long time to get fit again afterwards.

Being completely mad, of course I applied to do the Challenge again in 2016. Having secured a place, I now want my fifth crossing to be much more enjoyable, more like 2014. Then, I had been able to train hard, and was well prepared. This time I was determined to be in a better state of readiness, so my training plan began in earnest in the New Year, with lots of gym based work. I also worked with my sports physio, Stephen Lane, at Summit Physio in Bolton, to address the problems I have been having with my right knee. I built several stepping stones into my journey to fitness:

•      A trip to Glenmore Lodge near Aviemore in February to do their Winter Skills course.
•      The TGO Spring Reunion at Snake Pass Inn – which was an adventure itself as the road there was blocked by snow. That made for a memorable weekend - but is a completely different story to this one.
•      My Easter amble this year, The Cleveland Way, was chosen because it has a fair amount of climbing as well as distance. (110 miles)
•      A weekend meet of the Hill and Mountain Walking Club in April.

Monday 21^st March

An early start saw Ron chauffeuring me to Helmsley in Yorkshire to start the Cleveland Way. Cold weather forecast, but settled for the next few days. 

Here is me beside the monument at the start in my new ‘foxglove’ Paramo jacket. (Looking at the picture it seems worryingly bright – but perhaps that is just because I have worn blue for so very many years!) The hat isn't very flattering either - but is lovely and soft and warm. 

Note that I have gone back to a tent rather than my Trailstar, so have now got a clingon below my rucsac. Although there isn’t much difference in weight between my new Zephyros 1 and the combined weights of my previous Trailstar, groundsheet and bivi bag, it is easier to carry the Zephyros as a roll below my tent rather than split up. Leaving everything together should make pitching and striking very simple. Being as how I have only pitched in the garden up to now, that theory has yet to be tested!

Having waved Ron off, I set off on my trundle, happily contemplating time out of the hamster-wheel of work and electronic communications. Delight!

The first place of note I passed was Rievaulx Abbey. Many moons ago I came here on a school trip. I did not stop here today as I wanted to get some distance under my belt, but took photos of the site from the path and kept going. I found the relentless climb from Helmsley to the visitor centre at Sutton Bank hard work. It took me longer than I had expected, but this was the first time in 2015 year that I had walked with a full pack: tent, sleeping gear, kitchen gear, change of clothes, safety gear and food for 3 days. On top of that I had about 2 litres of water. Worryingly, by the time I got there, and treated myself to a cup of tea and a fruit flapjack, my left foot had started to hurt quite badly. In years gone by I have had bad blisters on the balls of my feet exactly this spot. I gave my feet a breather out of my boots while I was in the cafe, and a bit of a massage, then pushed I on.

The view from the top of Sutton Bank is spectacular.

The Yorkshire National Parks staff have done a fabulous job of developing a well maintained path network in the area. I was feeling the weight of my pack, and as I walked on my right foot started hurting too. I got a bit grumpy, despite the lovely scenery.

Pushing northwards I headed for my first overnight pitch at High Paradise Farm. I was very tired when I saw their first signs beside the trackway welcoming visitors with boots, bikes and hooves. I thought that boded well! However my heart sank as I climbed and climbed and climbed, reduced to a mere trudge as I ground on upwards. I had a flashback to camping at Faichemard Farm near Invergarry on TGOC 2012, the night before Storm Sunday. That was another place you had to climb and climb and climb up to at the end of a long day.

My first impressions from the signs were well founded. A lovely family run the place. I was the only camper there that night. The owner let me use her tea room to have somewhere to sit during the evening, so I didn’t have to spend all my time in the tent. (It was too cold to sit out.) The only downside on this site was that the farm’s geese were rather noisy – sounded like they were scrapping repeatedly during the night!

Tuesday 22^nd March

Although my feet were still sore I felt much better in the morning, and set off with a bounce in my step up onto the ‘Little Moor’ then Arden Great Moor. I love moorland walking, especially when you can see for miles and miles.

The paths were still in great condition, following the easterly ‘edge’ of the Cleveland hills. I am not sure of the exact geology there, but it seems to be an escarpment edge with a range of summits including Whitestone (371m) and Black Hambleton (398m) There was quite a lot of climbing and descent. I decided I had nothing to gain by dropping down into Osmotherley, so stayed up on the moorland paths past Solomon’s Temple and over Pamperdale Moor, picking up the line of the Lyke Wake Walk for a while.

From the open aspects of the high moorland I dropped into woodland at Clain Wood. What a contrast!

I think it was on the Scugdale Beck where I saw considerable evidence of the winter flood damage. In particular there was a lot of wash-out around a bridge, with undercutting and some compromising of the bridge abutments. (Notice that they are obviously used to flooding here, as there is a footbridge several feet higher up above the main bridge that is on the track.)

I stopped for a lunchtime break and got my boots off. My feet had been giving me trouble all morning so I gave them a really deep massage and left my socks off until they started to freeze in the wind. Amazingly, when I set off again the pain had subsided. Don’t know what I had done, but miraculously the awful pain had gone, and did not resurface for the rest of the trip.

By the time I got into the later afternoon I was getting a bit fed up of the constant climbing and descending – although I had chosen the Cleveland Way particularly because of this trait, and knowing it was good training for me. I climbed up onto a ridgeway (Round Hill, Live Moor, Gold Hill Faceby Bank and Carlton Bank) where I could once again see for miles and miles.

In the distance I could see plumes of smoke as gamekeepers burnt off areas of old heather. I didn’t mind them in the distance – then noticed that there was a set of fires that were not too far from my route. Fingers crossed, and with my heart thumping I carried on. Surely they would not set fires where walkers were likely to go? I have to admit being glad to get past there!

My target for the night was a campsite at Lord Stones Country Park. I had spoken to them on the phone previously – so was somewhat perturbed when I arrived at 5.30 pm to find everything locked up and a ‘closed’ sign on the main door. Luckily I saw someone inside and tried the handle. I surprised a lady who obviously had not been told to expect me. She was very concerned that she had cashed up for the day and was about to go – so I said could she not just take my fee and cash it tomorrow? She agreed, and then went searching for the code for the toilet block door. It took a while, but eventually she found it, and pointed me in the general direction to go and pitch. I wandered off, and found myself a quiet corner, not far from a rather murky looking pond. There wasn’t a soul around. A bit spooky, but the toilet block was near to my tent and was warm and clean. I pitched my tent and had a meal, then went for a lovely shower. As there was no-one around, and the toilet block was warm I hung my towel up and left it overnight – dry in the morning!

As I settled down in my tent I was aware of a strange noise, a bit like the bubbles that pour out from the oxygenating system in an aquarium. I couldn’t figure it out, but decided it came from the pond. I wondered what on earth was happening, and if it was because the water was so murky, and they were trying to filter it somehow? With that thought I fell asleep.

Wednesday 23^rd March

As happens, I rose early, needing to mind my business. Returning to the tent, it was just getting light. I could hear that bubbling noise, so decided to investigate. Approaching the pond I suddenly saw a flash of bodies in the water – frogs or toads – lots of them, and doing what comes naturally to them at this time of year! My arrival sent them into flight, and they lurked, just below the surface. The noise, which I had been aware of all night long stopped the moment they scattered, so I concluded that it had something to do with their mating rituals.

After a quick breakfast I struck my tent and set off. I climbed up the nearby Cringle Moor (432m) and set off along Kirkby Bank, another escarpment edge.

I could see both from the map and the view ahead  that the morning was going to be a whole set of steep climbs followed by equally steep descents – and my poor knees were already protesting. While high up on the bank I noticed a track below, running parallel, at the foot of the escarpment. Looking at the map I saw it was  marked parallel-ish all the way to Clay Bank – so when I dropped down to the bottom of Kirkby Bank, I picked up the lower track instead.

This decision may have been of great benefit to my knees. However, it has to be said that the path along the hills was in fairly good condition – whilst the woodland path below was a gloopy horrible mess for much of the time. I slipped and slithered and plodged through nasty sticky mud most of the rest of the morning. However, life is about compromises, and walking often brings this kind of dilemma.

My day ended at Park Farm in Kildale. This was a lovely little farm campsite, (with a Camping Barn too, for future reference). The farmer had milk and eggs I could buy, my resupply parcel had arrived, and there was a room in the farm buildings where I could use a kettle and microwave, as well as a toilet and shower! Luxury!!!!!! While I was making my tea a party of DofE expeditioners turned up. If I thought I was tired, it was nothing when compared to them! They may have been sharing carrying the camping gear, but their tents were HUGE, and must have weighed a ton. From odd things I overheard I thing they were a group of girls from a private school, and they were not at all used to roughing it! Poor lambs!

Thursday 24^th March

I decided before setting off that I was not going to climb Roseberry Topping. It was interesting to see its outline change with aspect as I approached it. I believe there is a slab of gritstone at the top, which has led to its distinctive shape developing.

I set off really early in the morning – and had a delightful first few hours once I climbed up onto the moors. Sadly there was a little rain, but nothing too uncomfortable. The majority of the walking was lovely. It dried up enough for me to have a late lunch/brew-stop. Perfect!

My happiness with life diminished during the afternoon.

Climbing up the escarpment above Guisborough I was hit by very strong wind, trying to buffet me off the top. The trees marked on the map had been cut, leaving the path very exposed to the wind. It was so bad it was scary. I scuttled along as quickly as I was able until I got to where the trees had not been cut – and heaved a huge sigh of relief! Knowing I was at a high spot above a town I thought there would be a phone signal.  There was – so I took the opportunity to ring home to talk to Ron. Gradually the fear I had felt, exposed on top of the escarpment, faded, and I began to feel human again.

A bit further on the forestry operations had completely mangled up the Cleveland Way itself – not to mention dumping a huge number of discarded tree boughs on the roadway. I had to divert a bit and for a little way was not quite sure where I was. It is always the same when forestry is cut – the going gets difficult. It is so sad seeing the blighted area that is left afterwards. I know it is usually replanted – but that is not immediate, and the scar left is horrible.

Towards the end of the day, coming down through Spa Wood there is a Trials Bike centre right beside the Cleveland Way. The footpath is fenced off, obviously to keep the bikes off the pathway. Unfortunately, there is a whole sequence of squeeze gates along this section – and most of them are too tight to get a rucsac through! 

It was muddy underfoot, my knees were hurting, I kept getting cramp in my left calf and I was very tired – so I was not in the best of humours, having to climb over fences at this point in the day!

Luckily, it wasn’t too far from here to my pitch for the night at Margrove Park. The lovely man there had a pint of milk ready for me (I had mentioned wanting milk when I rang up) and he told me I was the first walker they had had through this season! Although my pitch was tucked away behind caravans in storage, it was level, and close to the toilet block, which was lovely and warm. What is more, there was also a plug just inside the door, so I was able to use my charger! I was so tired I don’t remember much else – tent up, eat, snooze, shower in the morning.

Good Friday (25^th March)

Setting off early, as is my custom, yesterday’s tiredness still was with me, and my left leg kept going into spasms as I walked.

Getting close to Saltburn I passed under a magnificent, huge, railway viaduct. I was intrigued by the way the light was catching catkins and newly opening leaves on the trees, and spent a while taking photos

A little further on was a park which had some really interesting ‘arty’ benches on the theme of oak leaves.

I was dragging myself along as I got into Saltburn, and failed to find a café open, as it was Good Friday. I was feeling at a very low ebb, and realised I needed a real break or I wasn’t going to finish this trundle. I investigated the bus services along the coast, and eventually found a timetable, but no bus stop. I wandered around for ages looking for this ******* bus stop, to no avail. Eventually I asked someone who looked like a local – and she showed me where it had been – a hole in the tarmac where a post had been broken off “when something crashed into it”……

Of course, being Good Friday, the buses were running a Sunday Service – so I had to wait nearly an hour. Just as well I have good quality out-door gear. What a cold, windy place that is! Eventually the bus came, and I was whisked off to Runswick Bay, where my next pitch was scheduled. It was lovely to arrive early in the day and just laze about. Indeed, I got fidgety after an hour or so, and (minus rucksack of course) walked down to the beach, where a café was open and I had tea and a huge piece of fruitcake. The cake was so large I ate half there and saved the other half for my pudding! As I had my snack I watched members of the yacht club hauling boats out of the water – there seemed to be a number of tractors employed to do just that.

Despite the fact that I knew I was well below par, it was heartening to see that on the steep climb up from the beach back to the camp site I was faring far better than the ordinary holiday makers, most of whom were really puffing and blowing up the hill.

Saturday 26^th March

Things are a bit blurry about the morning. Despite my rest I think I was still overtired, and I just plodded along.

Getting to Sandsend had an impact though. Here, stepping onto what is in effect Whitby’s north beach, there were miles and miles of pretty empty sand. 

The tide had just gone out and I walked along the firm sands for a good mile or so, entertained by the variety of dogs and their walkers, playing on the beach, then walked the rest of the way into Whitby along the prom.

By the time I had got into Whitby the weather was starting to threaten, high winds whipping up loose sand and clouds glowering.

I climbed a path that snaked up the cliff, and as I neared the top I was puzzled by the smell. Topping out I realised that I had just landed in the middle of the National Scooter Convention, which was being hosted in Whitby! Two-stroke scented the air, and everywhere you looked there were gloriously decorated Vespas and Lambrettas, polished beyond belief. Of course, the visiting populace were also wearing the gear too…

I had a little touristy episode looking at Cook’s monument – and as I took a photo I realised that out at sea there was a reproduction sailing ship, so I managed to take a photo of his statue and the ship together – the ship unfortunately is tiny in this shot, located just above and between the left hand two wooden benches, but I promise it is there.

I also took a picture of the whalebones and the Abbey – kitch!

My prime objective in Whitby was to buy gas, as my supplies were running low. I tried all possible suppliers, to no avail. One women told me “It’s much too early for gas – no-one needs it at this time of year” – and I am stood there in front of her wearing my rucsac! I knew I had my tiny back-up canister at the bottom of my pack, so I gave up the search, and pressed on. Climbing the Abbey steps led me to another tea room. The heat nearly turned me away, but I stripped off all that was decent and had some lovely carrot cake, before escaping to the wind again.

The rain arrived shortly after I left the Abbey, and the wind became a shrieking monster against which it was at times impossible to walk. Although in farm country, it felt like I was on some high mountainside, exposed to that gale. It seemed to take hours, toiling into the wind to reach Long Leas Farm, in Hawsker, my pitch for the night. Lots of other campers there, all for the scooter convention, but mainly in vans or motorhomes. Nice friendly bunch, and a good farm campsite. The wind was too strong to cook beside my tent, so I huddled in the lea of the buildings to brew up my tea.

Sunday 27^th March

It was obvious from the outset that the weather today was going to be just awful. I did something I very rarely do, and that was make breakfast inside my tent. (I did stick a boot under the flysheet to lift it up and improve ventilation.)

Worried about the strength of the wind which was blowing from west to east, coupled with massive blasts in the gusts, I thought the cliff path might be downright dangerous today, so opted instead to take the ‘Cinder Track’, an old railwayline that has been opened up as a cycle trail, roughly paralleling the coast. I think I made a very good decision. The walking was fairly easy, although by the end of the day I did have a tiny blister on my right heel, as a result of the pounding my feet got. It felt like walking on tarmac all day. Despite the weather, it was a lovely day for walking. As the morning progressed the rain eased, although the high wind persisted.

I stopped at the National Trust Visitor Centre in Ravenscar, had a nice cup of tea (automatic machine, no cakes here) and watched families doing a trail with a reward at the end. (A chocolate bunny!) There seemed to be lots of happy kids everywhere.

The afternoon seemed to go on, and on and on, dodging showers that were occasionally deluges and at one point, hailstones. The countryside was nice, but not remarkable. Lots of people seemed to be out walking their dogs. Eventually, just when I thought I could go no further I got to the Caravan & Camping Club site just north of Scarborough. The site staff there are a friendly bunch, and their shop had not only milk and orange juice, but cheese and bread buns too. Heaven.

It was so cold (massive wind chill still) that I went for a walk to scout out if there was somewhere I could lurk in the warm for the evening – and I found a little on-site chippy. FISH AND CHIPS have never seemed so necessary. What is more, having thawed out in the chippy, they were able to point me to the ‘club room’ where I sat for the next couple of hours, ate my tea and read my Kindle till I felt ready for bed.

Monday 28^th March

The last day dawned - wet. Very, very wet. Other campers were packing up as fast as they could, some struggling to get cars and vans off soggy grass. A river ran down the main roadway through the campsite. I used the ‘backpackers shelter’ to make breakfast and to get my gear sorted and packed, as it kept some of the worst rain off me. However, it was still open to the bitter wind and swirling dampness.

Leaving the camp site that morning, the river was pelting along, and Scarborough was full of flooded roads.

Luckily, the rain eased, then stopped, so that by the time I exited Scarborough it was only windy, but not as excessively as on Saturday. Things were reasonably pleasant util I got to a headland called Yons Nab. Here the wind seemed to have been waiting for me, and once again I felt fearful about being knocked over by it. The coast path had disintegrated to muddy slop, and walking became very difficult for some considerable distance. I knew the end was nearing – but I seemed to be crawling along, battered by the wind and slipping all over the place in the mud. 

Suddenly, the last cliffline before Filey itself appeared. I wasn’t sure what to expect at the end of the Cleveland Way itself, but guessed there would be some kind of monument, like at the start. Partially elated, to be ending all the hard work, and partially disappointed, because it meant returning to life and work, I trudged along North Cliff.

The cliff went on, ... and on, ... and on. Finally, I got to the end and saw my final objective: a monument which did indeed match the one at the start.

  

In the bitingly cold wind there was no-one else around, so no-one I could press into taking a picture of me. I experimented with taking a 'selfie' on my phone (yes, the first one I have ever done) but was not very happy with the result. I took pictures of the monument with my camera as well. I sent a text home to say I had made it. Then I had to find my campsite, pushing another of couple of miles onto my legs. It was not the best site in the world. Enough said.

Tuesday 29^th March

After a lazy, late morning start I walked back into Filey, dodging showers I travelled home by train, snoozing most of the way. Oh, my – it was VERY warm when you were out of that wind!

Reflecting back on my earlier query about how easy or otherwise pitching the Zephyros is, I have to say it is the best tent I have ever possessed both for pitching and striking. I have added a home made 'footprint' clipped into the tent system, and the whole thing works delightfully. Many thanks to those people who have written blog-posts about modifying this tent (and others) as I have learned a lot from you and am happily applying them to my new little nest. As always I have a 'little list' of other gear modifications I want to do before my next jaunt. Life would be such a bore if I didn't have my trundles to prepare for...