When I
reached the Lion Inn last night I stripped off my soaking wet weather gear and
muddy boots in the purpose built boot porch at the entry.
Carrying
them to the bar where they were dumped on the floor while I enjoyed an Old
Peculier, or three.
When I
reached my room the complete wet kit went into the bath, rather than drip all
over the carpet.
Everything
in my backpack was soaked.
On with
the radiators, I placed each item along the radiator top to help dry them out.
Not just the obvious things like clothes but everything my glasses case,
guidebook, maps, first aid kit and the backpack itself.
Returning
after dinner my room was like a sauna so I opened the window above my bed and
let the cold air and mist in from the moors.
I didn’t
sleep too well, heat coming from the radiator one side cold from the window the
other and me thinking about werewolves.
One more
day and I’ll be off this, the highest moor in North Yorkshire.
Leaving
the Lion Inn I headed out onto the road that follows the ridge in a giant arc.
I have
been here before and I know the road sweeps round to the right and is some time before I reach my turnoff point.
It was
freezing so I stop and kit up including beanie and gloves.
After
2km I realize I was walking in the wrong direction.
I should
have turned left out of the inn not right.
Three
quarters of an hour and 4km later I am back to where I started.
Head
down leaning into the wind that was coming off the polar ice cap via Scotland I
struggled on, then it started to rain.
After
walking another 3km I am only 1.8km in a direct line from the Inn. Sometimes
this walk seems like you are standing still, especially when you make dumb
mistakes.
It would
be much nicer to be on a trail but this road is the only way to proceed, as
across the direct line from the Inn lies a 200m-drop into a valley of
impassable bracken. So on I plod.
Further
along the roadway the mist dropped down to cover the ground. The weather was
closing in fast.
I pay my
respects to Fat Betty, as I pass her, a stone trig point where walkers take a
small sweet placed upon her shoulder left by previous walkers, leaving another
for the next passer by.
I just
doff my hat give her a cheerful g’day and carryon down the road. It’s just too
cold.
Finally
leaving the road, just past Trough House, I headed into Great Fryup Dale and
onto Glaisdale High Moor. Heading across the moor top I should have a clear
view of the North Sea, but I can hardly see 30m in front of my nose.
This is
an easy walk really, on the limestone 4wd tracks that crisscross the moor tops;
today it is just uncomfortable in this weather, and the view down the valley on
a clear day, which I have seen in 2011, is worth the effort, but there is
little to see from up here today.
The
moors are managed to facilitate grouse hunting. The heather is burnt, sections
at a time, to help rejuvenate growth and feed for the grouse. Giving it that
patchwork quilt look and as a result these limestone track are needed to get to
every part of the moor.
So when
walking does one take the first limestone track to the left or the second?
The first.
Wrong.
Coming
off the high moor I turned too soon and as a result, rather than, double back,
I made the scramble up 100 odd metres through knee deep heather, grouse flying
off in all directions as I disturbed their peace.
Not my
best navigation day.
The high
moor descends along Glaisdale Rigg to the lesser Glaisdale Moor before passing
through farmland and reaching; you guessed it, the village of Glaisdale.
Nestled
on the banks of the River Esk it is a quaint village and the ideal location for
lunch the Arncliffe Arms.
But it
is too cold to think about stopping, I have made good time.
It has
been nearly all down hill and stopping can be painful, as you tend to chill
down even more when not moving.
Then you
seize up and the restart is painful.
It has
stopped raining but the wind is still very cold.
Sometimes
it is best to keep moving.
Around
the corner and under the railway bridge is Beggar’s Bridge built in 1619 as a
tribute to love. I take a quick pic and move on.
Leaving
the bridge I entered East Arncliffe Wood, a pleasant walk along the Esk, the
air filled with birdsong, but under foot muddy and slippery.
I was
out the wood after about 20 minutes and on the home stretch, joining the road
to Egton Bridge and my accommodation on the north side of the village at the Postgate
Inn.
Very
relieved I stripped off my wet weather gear and boots in the beer garden then
entered the traditional inn built in 1860 and ordered a pint of Camerons Strongarm
then had another.
Daily
Stats.
Distance
23.8km
Assent
300m
Descent
638m
Time
out 4h 58m
Stopped
0h 17m
Moving
average 5.1km per hour
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