Today looks to be another easy flat walk across the tops of moors. It should also be a fast day, as it’s one of the shortest on my itinerary. If I get to Glaisdale early enough, I might take a bus or train to Whitby, which nearly every Brit (and I mean nearly every Brit) I’ve met on the walk says to go to. Gee, playing tourist on the walk. What a concept.
Breakfast this morning includes an official menu to review, and a table that’s already laden with homemade mixed fruit preserves, fat and skinny milk (cleverly presented in fat and skinny jugs), butter and Flora (also on white plates/clear plates for easy distinction). “Sycamore Jack” takes menu orders, and every meal cooked to request...a right fine restaurant service we have. By far this couple has the most fun I’ve seen doing this B&B service in all my time and trips to England.
After taking a photo of Brian, me, Jack, and Andy on the stoop, Mary drops us all off at our starting points on the trail for the day—Brian at The Lion Inn and Andy and me 45 minutes down the trail at Fat Betty. The mists are thick at this point, but we can still see ahead well on the trail. I am glad for Andy’s company through this part of the moors.
The trail is mostly hilltop walking through cloud that lifts steadily as we move east. There’s little elevation change, with some ungroomed foot trails and mostly road or improved trails like yesterday. We get some lovely views down the Great Fryup Head (really, that’s what it’s called) and Glaisdale Moor, and we send several coveys of grouse into flight from the heather. Heavy wind pushes us from the side; it is cold, but brings no rain. The eight and half miles go fast in conversation that range from work and travel to personal goals and growth.
Outside of Glaisdale, we meet a local named Jim on the trail. He is the quintessential Yorkshireman—long coat, Wellingtons, wool cap. He seems a bit taken aback at my effusive greeting, but willingly gives us directions through Glaisdale to the pub for lunch. He also warns us to be on the lookout for the results of scarecrow competition. We spot an entry immediately past a farm gate—a huge bumble bee made from a silage capsule.
Andy and I lunch at Arncliffe Arms pub, and we are joined by Brian an hour later. This place has the best menu I’ve seen in a pub, with creative, cosmopolitan recipes that assure me that they know how to cook here. I order the chicken tortilla wrap with garlic, olive oil, and spring onion.
Both Brian and Andy continue on from Glaisdale today, and I stay here for the night. We say farewells and I head for Ashley House, just a few blocks from the pub. The views from their yard are spectacular—right over the valley of River Esk.
While talking with proprietors Margaret and John, I learn that Tracy, the gal I’d met on Day 1 over breakfast at St Bees, had stayed with them a few days ago, as had Wessel and David, the Holland boys whom I’d met at Lining Crag on the way to Grasmere. And I just got a text message from Elaine and John—they’ve landed in Robin Hood’s Bay, 3:40p. Hurrah!It’s so good to hear about the folks I’ve met on the way, especially those I passed time with early on and never saw again. I wonder how Marv, Michael and David, and the Pack ’n’ Boots crew, are progressing. Michael and David should be done by now, come to think of it. They would have pulled into Robin Hood’s Bay yesterday, in all that rain. Andy, Jenny and Len, and Nico and Marja, are finishing tomorrow, I think.
Ashley House has two bathrooms for guests, and one has a huge tub that lets me luxuriate in a hot bubble bath—the first I’ve had in years because my House of Whimsor had only showers and a hot tub. I lie back beneath mountains of bubbles, and my muscles slowly give in to the hot water. Soon I am so relaxed that only my breathing moves the water in a regular slow tide in the tub. Up down. Up down. I hold my breath, expecting the water to still. But it keeps rising and falling in subtle wavelets between my breasts, pulsing to the rhythm of my heartbeat. Wow. My heart has become strong enough to move the water around me. I am proud of how my heart has strengthened over the past two weeks, how resilient it has been the past two-plus months—indeed all my life.
I’m glad I am taking my time on this last part of the journey, and have been wondering at my decision to stay overnight at Glaisdale. What am I to experience by taking an extra day the way I have, instead of pushing on yesterday to Glaisdale, or moving on today to reach Littlebeck, both of which would have been workable options? Well, first there’s been meeting Jack and Mary and Andy and Brian at Danby. And I got out of yesterday’s storm early. And I had a chance to walk with Andy to Glaisdale instead of legging it by myself today.
Tomorrow is another short day, which gives me the option of taking the steam train from Grosmont to Pickering. That’s an easy break along the way to Littlebeck. (I have decided not to take the train to Whitby, as that would spoil the experience of seeing the North Sea for the first time along the walk.) Slowing down is good.
I’m thinking I’d like to continue this point-to-point walking. Get a good medium-size backpack, B&B directory, and maps, and head out in other parts of the UK or in the US. A walk from London to Bath, East Sussex to Cornwall, across or around Wight. Or from Tacoma, Washington, to Vancouver, BC, say, on a trek that crosses local islands for overnights.At moments like these, soaking in a hot bubble bath, anything is possible.
Trail miles: 8.5; actual miles walked: 9
