A hill of a weekend - Goathland - June 2010
The weekend kicked off with a slap-up cyclist’s breakfast cooked by Sue. If everybody had known what was in store, they might have had that extra rasher of bacon. It was nice enough weather to eat out in the garden; a good omen for the weekend. The main subject of conversation at breakfast was ladies underwear; namely Julie’s sports bra which was, by this time, heading back to West Yorkshire with Trev. Relations between Julie and Trev didn’t improve when his less than helpful suggestion was “Can’t you borrow one of Sue’s?” Fortunately Sally came to Julie’s rescue with something slightly more compatible.
Those who had turned down the offer of breakfast and day riders Dave and Elizabeth duly arrived; turning our front garden into a scene reminiscent of the Tour de France. Our departure was slightly delayed by a few people needing to visit the bike shop and we re-convened on Stockton Lane. This meant that we were a bit late picking up our final member, Elaine, who had arranged to meet us at Strensall in a cunning attempt to snip a couple of miles off the distance. I’m sure that, given the choice, that particular few miles wouldn’t have been the ones she’d have chosen to miss.
We got as far as the north of Strensall when, what was rapidly approaching a shopping expedition, continued with a further stop at the pharmacy. Sun cream was essential on what was becoming a very warm day. The shops were then left behind as we hit the quieter roads and Terrington Bank; the first real hill of the day. For some strange reason, Dave and Elizabeth chose to leave us just before the big hill for their leisurely ride. From there, it was up and down to Hovingham. The motorcyclists appeared to have taken over the cafe so, undeterred we decided to press on to Nunnington where we knew there was a tea shop. Or, at least there was until last October when it had inconsiderately closed down without bothering to inform the YOG teashop committee.
Fortunately Sue’s breakfast was enough to keep us all going up the second big hill of the day to Kirkbymoorside, where we decided to stop for lunch. We ate our packed lunches in the town centre and got take-away teas from the bakery. Having already brought 2 carrier bags with food to make her packed lunch to our house (most of which she’d already consumed during the course of the morning), we were initially surprised to see Julie with a carrier bag full of beer; especially as there was no Trev to carry them up the hills. However, we soon realised that they weren’t for her and that she was just doing her good deed for the day; helping an elderly gent to carry his shopping from the shop to the bus stop.
From here, it was up onto the moors via Gillamoor where we’d met up with Martin and Trev on the cycling weekend a couple of years back. Then it was a long but steady climb up Blakey Ridge to the Lion Inn for a well-deserved drinks stop. The next section was probably the easiest of the day with a steady 4 mile freewheel downhill to Castleton in the Esk Valley. Those of us who did the cycling weekend a couple of years back knew that the Esk Valley was hard work although through beautiful countryside. We decided to take afternoon tea at the North York Moors Visitors Centre at Danby; feeling that we’d got plenty of time to do the last few miles to Goathland. However, from here it was tough all the way. We finally left the Esk Valley by climbing up the infamous Limber Hill; a gradient which had done for Jeremy’s bottom bracket on the previous trip.
I had slightly underestimated the distance (by about 15 miles as Richard kindly pointed out) but I think it was the last 10 miles of hills which I hadn’t envisaged which sent my popularity ratings plummeting. It was a slightly ragged bunch who finally made it to Goathland about 7.00; the time dinner was booked for . Jeremy, the group photographer, was lying in wait outside the Mallyon Spout Hotel. I haven’t seen the photos yet so don’t know who was still smiling! At least Elaine felt it was quite an achievement as she said she’d never done over 50 miles in a day before; especially when I described it as “a hard 65 miles”.
Jeremy and Tracey directed us to the camp site which was a good mile away from the pub down a very long lane. I kept wondering whether I’d missed it but eventually it came into view and a lovely camp site it was. The tents were quickly erected and most of us squeezed in a shower (no names mentioned of those who didn’t!); despite us being a bit late. Sue revived after a sandwich and, due to the distance, we all decided to cycle to the pub. All cares were forgotten after a good meal at the pub. I asked Jeremy if he’d cycled to Goathland by the same route as us and he replied “No way!” . I could have sworn he said he was taking the same route. Oops!
Trev finally arrived from his house removals. He seemed quite sprightly. He probably had an easier day than us?
Some satisfaction was felt in the football by Ghana beating the U.S.A. in the World Cup since the latter team’s late goal in the first round had doomed England to yet another encounter with the Germans.
Everybody except Sue and I seemed to get a good night’s sleep. Sue was on the verge of instigating inter-northeast violence on the tent from Hartlepool who talked deep into the night and was not happy about Peter’s early morning rustling “just after I’d finally got to sleep”. Morale in the Cook tent declined further when it was found that I’d made a ‘cock up on the catering front’ and misunderstood that breakfast wasn’t provided. However, further enquiry found that only milk was actually lacking and a quick cycle down to the Adensfield Post Office rectified the problem.
Having breakfasted al fresco on another beautiful morning, us cyclists took the leave of our fellow campers and Julie who was whisked off by Trev, and set off for home; the aim being to get back in time to see the football match at 3.00. We collected Sandra from her B & B. Sandra said that she didn’t get a great night’s sleep but Sue just muttered something about “never camping again”. There’s no easy way out of Goathland. The only way is up and a couple of hills took us up onto the moors once again. At least we were fresh this morning. I wasn’t particularly keen on taking the main road route to Pickering but the lure of the football made it necessary if we were to be home for kick-off.
On a lovely summers Sunday morning, the road was busy and our peleton caused a few problems for drivers and motorcyclists; particularly on the couple of steep hills but we made it to the Hole of Horcum. Richard couldn’t wait for the Pickering cafe stop but hit the burger van for a bun which appeared to contain as much sausage and bacon as we’d cooked for 8 the previous day! En route we were spotted and assailed by various other YOGGies heading for Goathland to meet up for the Sunday walk. From the Hole of Horcum, it was mostly downhill to Pickering where we headed straight to Mrs Rummage’s cafe. The all-day breakfast for a fiver was just what was needed. Peter didn’t feel that 11.45 in the morning was too early for a very large helping of syrup sponge and custard.
From Pickering, it was a relief to leave the main roads for the pleasant country lanes to the south. As we moved towards the Howardian Hills, the full heat of the sun hit us but we pressed on and, although we didn’t quite make it home for kick-off, the Germans had only managed to score one before I got the telly on. Mind you, I managed to miss the first (well, the only one they counted) England goal by helping Sandra get her bike onto her bike rack. Was the rush home really worth it?
So, another good fun weekend. Apologies to anybody who suffered too much by my basing my estimated distances on guesswork rather than a map measurer. Sue will apply suitable punishment; of that you can be sure. I don’t think they have a Limber Hill in Normandy but, if they do, we’ll be ready for it!
Arran - Easter 2010
Forty eight hours of snow and storms had preceded our trip to Arran. However, the threatened rail strikes failed to materialise and the landslides had been cleared so we enjoyed a smooth journey north. Central Scotland was still blanketed in snow as we crossed the country. Following a quick bacon butty stop at Glasgow station, we took the train to Ardrossan pier; bypassing the delights of one of Scotland’s least attractive towns. As the ferry took us to Brodick, the sun shone and the beautiful island of Arran looked impressive with its snow-covered peaks.
As Simon had arranged for us to pick up the pre-ordered shopping from one of the two Co-ops in the town (Why a town with a population of 621 should have 2 supermarkets; both owned by the same company, seems strange), we couldn’t take the connecting bus to Lochranza; 15 miles away at the north end of the island. Whilst Simon and Peter went to the supermarket, the rest of us took refuge in the nearest café for tea and cake. When we realised that the next ferry/bus connection was another 3 hours, we looked at alternative transport. In the end, Simon and Peter accompanied the shopping in one taxi, 8 of us got a minibus taxi while the rest waited for the next bus.
Five years had elapsed since the last group trip to Arran and, as we approached Lochranza in the sunshine, my first thoughts were that I’d forgotten what a beautiful place it is. The village is mostly on the west side of a small sea loch and is surrounded by hills on 3 sides with great views north over the Kilbrannan Sound to the Kintyre peninsula beyond. The hostel is in a lovely spot on the shores of the loch and had recently undergone a £1/2 million refurbishment. The only teething problem seemed to be that of getting water up to the top floor when people on the floor below were having showers. No prizes for guessing which floor we were on!
The friendly but extremely talkative warden was a mine of authority on the local wildlife along with many other subjects. After stowing the shopping and another brew, we went for a walk around to the other side of the loch. There was lots of birdlife on the loch including the attractive Red-breasted Mergansers and we were all amazed at how tame the local deer were; happily posing for photos in front of the mountains. Unfortunately, no otters were spotted though.
For the first night’s evening meal, the warden had recommended not the local hotel but one in the next village along the coast, Catacol. However, his estimate of 20 minutes walk away would have even challenged Neil. Having recovered from the price of the beer in the pub (not to mention the price of Sandra’s single malt), we ate. Many of us opted for the Steak and Red Squirrel Pie; having been assured that it contained Red Squirrel Beer rather than the actual mammal of that name. This was rather good. Better than Michael’s ‘fresh’ haddock which didn’t look as though it had seen the sea for a while? Nevertheless, a good first evening of the trip.
Whilst the Friday dawned clear and sunny, we had been advised to avoid the mountains for a couple of days due to the deep snow and all opted for a coastal walk. I seem to recall in 2005, Jon P managed to persuade everybody to get up for the 7.00 bus on the first morning but on this trip we were happy for a leisurely start and the next bus at 10.00. We took the bus down to North Sannox and walked along the lovely coastline of the Cock of Arran back to Lochranza. Laura was a bit unsure of how she’d cope with a neck injury and walked from the hostel and met us half way. She said it had taken her only an hour and a half to reach that point; something we found difficult to believe as we struggled to scramble over some difficult rocks. Then she pointed out that, when she’d been on her outward leg, the tide had been out and she’d been able to just walk along the beach.
Following afternoon tea at the hostel with some of Laura’s rather delicious Easter cake, Sue and I went out otter spotting past the ferry terminal (Lochranza hosts the ferry to the Kintyre peninsula). No luck again although I was pleased to spot a Black Guillemot out on the sea. Then it was back to the hostel for more of Laura’s fare; a rather splendid risotto.
Following the meal, a highly entertaining hour was spent on looking up words and phrases in Michael’s English Slang – French dictionary. Cynthia was somewhat shocked but at least now we all know what a Hairburger is! And from now on the French version of ‘hanky-panky’ will be known as ‘honky-ponky’.
The hilarity of the evening continued when we retired to the lounge which was occupied by a young Scottish guy doing the John O’ Groats to Land’s End cycle ride and his father who’d come over to support him. Having informed us of the Scottish equivalent of Hairburger (Furburger, apparently!), we got into conversation with him. The poor cyclist said he was too tired after a hard day in the saddle for any ‘honky-ponky’ so Janet turned her attention to his Dad.
Saturday began with Tracey’s splendid fried breakfast although during the cooking of this she did have a Gordon Ramsey moment which could have caused a diplomatic incident with the large Irish group. Initially it was thought that they may have taken revenge by stealing Sandra’s socks but she sheepishly confessed later that they’d been found.
Today was the worst day of the 3 weather-wise with quite low cloud so most of us decided to do a valley walk except Cynthia, ‘Clint’ Hopton and Tracey who took the bus round the island. There was a slight delay at the start whilst Tracey O decided to adopt a stray lamb before eventually leaving it at the distillery! Like most of the walks in the book we had, this one was 9 ½ miles but little did we know just how hard a walk it was to be. We set off up the valley behind the distillery and it wasn’t long before we hit the snow line and it was a hard trudge up this valley for 3 miles to the small lochan where we had lunch. We nearly missed the loch altogether as it was small and frozen over.
In the afternoon, it was a steady descent again through quite deep snow down Glen Catacol before finally hitting the coast near the village of the same name. Janet suddenly found a new lease of life as the pub came into sight and showed the rest of us a clean pair of heels. Most of us retired to the pub for a welcome pint although Elizabeth certainly got more of a bargain than the beer. Her teapot would have yielded no less than 8 cups at a mere 20p a cup!
Having put Janet on the bus, the rest of us walked back along the otter-free (Do they exist?) coast to the hostel. Tonight’s gourmet offering was Tracey’s lentil bolognaise followed by ‘Clint’ Hopton’s crumble. Dinner was a bit later tonight but a few of the group braved it to the local pub where they reported that the beer was amazingly even more expensive than at Catacol. Not the local brew either.
Sunday was our last full day on the island and, as forecast, dawned beautiful and sunny. Yesterday’s walk had obviously taken its toll as most people opted for a gentle coastal walk from Blackwaterfoot to Kings Cave and the Standing Stones. Judging by the photographs, there was quite a lot of relaxing involved. For Sandra, Peter and I, the lure of the mountains on a perfect day was just too much and we headed off for Goat Fell, the highest peak on the island. Despite most of the Irish on the bus opting to do the same, none of them chose the same route as us.
We set off from Corrie up the shortest route up the mountain. It was a steady climb until the last few hundred feet where it became steeper and there was plenty of snow still up there. There was an icy wind at the summit as we posed for photos before retreating downhill to shelter for lunch. By choosing this route we actually missed the crowds and were on our way down whilst the Irish and others were still coming up. Considerable care was needed on the initial descent on steep snow steps but once below this, we took a more southerly route down to the small village of Cladach, just north of Brodick.
Cladach is a busy tourist spot; not only hosting the popular Brodick Castle but also the Isle of Arran Brewery which, despite a sign on the window saying ‘Open All Hours’, was closed. Fortunately the pub/restaurant/tea shop nearby was open and we were able to obtain refreshments before catching the bus back to Lochranza after a fantastic walk on the Arran fells.
Before dinner, I went for a final otter spot around the loch but unfortunately my walk coincided with the entire population of Arran walking their dogs past other houses with gardens containing dogs so it wasn’t very conducive to seeing wildlife. I did, however, see a seal in the shallow water which seemed unconcerned by all of the canine activity.
Following another excellent meal of Sandra’s chilli and steamed puddings, quite a few of us went down to the local pub for our last night. We soon discovered that Whisky was cheaper than Beer and Sue and I introduced others to the delights of Glayva, a very nice whisky liquor. All too soon, the evening was over and those of us who’d left it a bit later to go back to the hostel regretted the delay slightly as the weather had by now taken a serious turn for the worst. We initially felt a bit guilty about leaving Janet behind in the pub but, having failed to leave before the Irish group arrived, she felt obliged to stay in there singing with them until 1.30 in the morning. Lock up your fathers!
Our last night was a stormy one with high winds and lashing rain and we feared that the ferry wouldn’t be running. The warden’s wife said it was on ‘Amber Alert’ as we left on Monday morning. Our other fear was of getting everybody onto the bus as, due to the weather, a lot of the Irish brought their departure forward to leave at the same time as us. Fortunately, they managed to squeeze us all on although apparently the bus passed later stops with people waiting and the conditions were similar to those I’ve encountered on Nepalese buses; albeit without the pigs and chickens. It was a soggy crowd from the camp site who boarded with tales of collapsed tents and flooding.
Fortunately the wind had dropped a lot and the ferry crossing back was probably less likely to induce travel sickness than the bus ride. After that, it was a fairly uneventful journey back to York. Another great weekend organised by Simon with lots of memories to keep us going until the next one. The question on everybody’s lips though – Will Elizabeth’s hat be finished in time?
Trans-Pennine Real Ale Trail - march 2010
Even in the drinking days of my past, I don’t recall ever starting a pub crawl at 10.30 in the morning but 10 of us assembled at York station at this early hour for Deborah’s Pennine Real Ale Trail. However, the drinking wasn’t to begin for a while as we first had to get over the Pennines to the starting point at Stalybridge. It was perfect weather for a pub crawl – chucking it down with rain. Those dark, satanic mills of West Yorkshire and Lancashire would be at their most dismal today. With much excitement, we boarded the 10:40 train across the Pennines to Stalybridge; picking up our team photographer, Colin, at Leeds on the way.
I couldn’t honestly tell you a great deal about most of Stalybridge as the first pub, the Station Buffet Bar, wasn’t more than a dozen steps from the train. It’s a rare finely-preserved example of a Victorian Buffet bar with many original features, lots of railway memorabilia, a friendly atmosphere and, of course, lots of real ales. We were narrowly beaten to the bar by a group of chaps from Manchester also doing the Ale Trail; one of many groups we’d encounter during the course of the day. We compared notes and schedules and found that they were making a weekend of it by crawling eastwards to Leeds, staying overnight and working their way back west tomorrow. Paul was the first to test the pub grub; a tasty looking hot pork sandwich, while Carol began her tea crawl with a cup of the other Tetleys. Well, it wouldn’t be Yorkshire tea, would it? After all, we’d crossed the border.
After an hour, it was time to move on and, joined by our Mancunian companions, we caught the 12:42 to our second stop, Mossley. This time we actually had to leave the station to reach the bar although it was hardly a long walk as our destination, the Britannia Inn, was just across the road. Whilst not the most atmospheric of pubs, the selection of real ales was good and most of us sampled the locally-brewed Greenfield beer. Sue and I decided that we couldn’t wait for a 4.00 lunch and succumbed to food here which was excellent and surprisingly good value.
An hour later and it was time to move on again. Our schedule missed out the next stop, Greenfield, so we bid farewell to the Manchester crowd and moved back over the county border to Marsden. This involved the longest walk of the day. We actually passed another pub opposite the station (something which fooled another group who went in; only to re-emerge and follow us) and descended 300yds down hill to the splendid Riverhead Brewery Tap by the canal. The rain was really hammering down by now and Jonathan even delayed his next pint in an unsuccessful attempt to replace their ailing umbrella. The selection of ales here was the most extensive yet with no less than 7 beers from the brewery itself along with more from the nearby Ossett Brewery. The stop at this attractive canal-side location allowed us to catch up with the latest news from this week’s guest publication, Towpath Talk. All too soon it was time to move on yet again, up the hill to board the 14:59 to the mighty metropolis of Huddersfield.
This was to be a longer stop as we had 2 pubs to visit although we didn’t even have to leave the station to do so. Plans to eat at the first, the Kings Head, were thwarted by a total absence of food. Actually, in my opinion, this was the least attractive of today’s bars; being a rather featureless and functional place although in mitigation, it was my favourite beer of the day, the rather splendid Bradfield Farmers Blonde.
The lack of food more than the lack of atmosphere drove us fairly rapidly from here to Huddersfield station’s other pub, the large Head of Steam, which took up a whole wing of Huddersfield’s magnificent railway station. It really is an architectural marvel. My attempt to compare it to Milan’s fine Mussolini-era edifice was shot down in flames by Liz although I’m sure that later in the day she was comparing Dewsbury to Rome!
Food at last was served for those who had restrained themselves thus far (and some who hadn’t) although not immediately. Having already eaten, I was in the dining room last but decided to order dessert which somewhat embarrassingly arrived first; allowing me to eat it in front of the hungry hoards of my companions. However, I’m reliably informed that the food was good and cheap. I liked the look of Carol’s Yorkshire Pudding (back in God’s country now!) and Liz’s prawn sandwich was a sight to behold; the bread more a flight of stairs than a mere doorstep!
Well fed, all of us except Paul and Carol (for whom the need for another cup of tea was more pressing than the beer) decided to move on and take the 16:57 to Dewsbury. Here, it wasn’t a long walk to our next stop, the West Riding, which was in the converted waiting rooms of the station. This was a busy bar with lots of character and indeed lots of characters; not least the lady christened by Liz as ‘The Vision in Red’. We can only speculate what Paul would have made of her; had Carol not stayed for that cup of tea. The Arabic arches were noted and a brief excursion to the car park was made in order to appreciate the Italianate/Tudor style of the building. The tudor influences were fairly obvious but we struggled to find much Italian in the attractive building.
Then it was time to move on again. On the platform we met Paul and Carol who had just alighted from the Huddersfield train but joined us on the 18:13 to Batley. A mere 3 minutes on the train (if it was fine, we could have walked) brought us to our final destination of the day. Batley may not be the most picturesque of Yorkshire towns but it does boast some splendid stone buildings; not least the one housing our final pub of the day, the Cellar Bar. Some of us delayed our visit to the bar to admire the fine carvings of animals (an eagle, an owl, a monkey and of course, a bat) on the exterior. Inside we found a surprisingly comfortable, modern pub with, of course, another good selection of beers. Paul proved king of the pool table while I blew a comeback by going in off the black against Martin. Jonathan and Liz headed off to catch a train to Knaresborough whilst the rest of us enjoyed our last pint in comfort before heading off.
Deborah informed us that it would be quicker to go back to Dewsbury and get a fast train to York from there than to change at Leeds so we did. The entertainment wasn’t over for the day yet though. The train from Dewsbury was quite full and some of us chanced to sit with a highly eccentric character; a long-haired 55-year old on his birthday day out to a gig in Garforth. He’d obviously been entertaining those sitting with him – a foreign student and a pretty young hairdresser – for some time when we boarded. With a brain like a price-comparison website, he could not only relate the price of each one of the several pints of beer he’d already drunk that day (not to mention the bottle of cider he was drinking at the time) but also tell you how much cheaper every component of the extensive picnic he had spread out in front of him was compared with the other supermarkets. Unfortunately he was so busy regaling us with this, how much of a style guru he was, and how his legs were nicer than the hairdressers (doubtful), that he failed to clear away his picnic in time to actually get off the train at Garforth and was forced to continue to York with the rest of us.
We finally alighted surprisingly sober at York Railway Station after a highly enjoyable, fun and entertaining day. Raise a glass to Deborah. Cheers!
When’s the next one?
YOG on the Tyne - Newcastle weekend - February 2010
It seemed that Sue had only been in the group for a short while when she promised to organise a weekend in her home city. However, sceptics had long doubted whether it was ever to happen. Then, out of the blue one Monday night, after a comment that there was no weekend away in February, Sue rose to the challenge and the announcement came. There was no turning back and places quickly filled up.
On Friday night, most people headed up to Newcastle by train. We drove up with the food and due to family visits on Sunday night but met up with most of the others at the hostel at 7.00. The friendly local warden, Brendan, made sure we were welcome. This was more than we could say for the weather and it was a good half mile walk in the snow to The Corner House where we’d chosen to eat. However, the fare was good and very reasonably-priced and we ate our fill. Tony R and I wend native a bit and ‘dooned’ a couple of bottles of the famous ‘broon’ (soon to be brewed in Tadcaster!). Paul and Carol diced with death during their attempt to get to the pub via the direct route of a road underpass but arrived unscathed just in time to get food before orders closed. Tony S nearly repeated the same mistake when he arrived later.
We later retired to the smaller and rather pleasant Punch Bowl near the hostel where we stayed for last orders.
After the snow of the previous night, it was a pleasant surprise that Saturday dawned with clear blue skies. After a hostel breakfast in the dining room which contained the lyrics to the Blaydon Races along with a poster of the famous characters in the song, we got ready and boarded the Metro. This is possibly the first time that a weekend away walk has started on a mass transit system other than a bus or regular train? A question for Jeremy, I think.
Having given Paul the chance to practice his Geordie accent within earshot of locals, we arrived unscathed at South Shields; a place I only really associate as being the end of the Great North run. Dave G and Laura met us there, having come up for the day and had already had coffee by the time we arrived. We headed for the coast and were pleased to find that the South Pier, the mile long jetty which forms the southern part of the Tyne mouth, was open so we braved some fairly dramatic-looking waves breaking over the walkway and made our way out to the lighthouse at the end. Initially, we thought we’d got the pier to ourselves but there proved to be a small group of local fishermen hidden from view behind the lighthouse. Sue engaged them in local dialect whilst my own attempts to converse with them about what they were trying to catch brought the witty response – “Fish”! The breakers appeared to be getting bigger and even the fishermen were talking about moving so we headed back along the pier and walked around the north coast of the town to the Shields ferry.
It was a beautiful, clear winters day so we all sat on the top deck of the ferry for the short crossing to North Shields; witnessing the skippers skilful manoeuvre to avoid a very large ship heading upstream. The next part of the walk took us through the characterful Fish Quay area which has recently re-invented itself from a purely commercial area into something of a tourist attraction. We passed a particularly interesting looking building which proved to be an Aladdin’s cave selling both tourist souvenirs and fresh food. Here, the local speciality, Pease Pudding, was procured for Sunday’s sarnies.
A short walk from here brought us to Tynemouth Priory, a great spot for lunch with fine views over the mouth of the river. Time was moving on so we decided not to walk to the end of the shorter North Pier but headed past the statue of Lord Collingwood (Nelson’s boss, apparently) and the ruins of Tynemouth Priory and along the cliff to promenade to Cullercoats. From here, we dropped onto the wide sandy beach of Whitley Bay which was busy with dog-walkers and Tynesiders at leisure. Some of the hardy local children were paddling!
After a tea and cake stop at a beach front café, we continued along the beach and the promenade to St Mary’s Island. This is a bit of a miniature Holy Island, cut off by water at high tide; a fact unknown to two of my close friends at University who ended up wading ashore in December whilst bird watching on the far side. There were plenty of birds about today too and Tony S and I were rather pleased with ourselves for successfully identifying a Purple Sandpiper. Also, a seal was spotted in the water not far from the lighthouse. Sue bumped into the first of two people today that she actually knew. Martin told us that the tide was due in soon so we beat a hasty retreat landward to the nearest Metro for the return to the hostel.
We’d booked an evening meal at the nearby Santana’s Italian Restaurant which was packed to the rafters; usually a good sign that food is up to scratch. Despite an extensive menu, Andy plumped for Lasagne again. Why choose anything else? Sue’s friends turned up a mere two hours late and she met yet another person she knew from way back. The meal proved to be rather long and leisurely and when we left at 10.30, enthusiasm for a trip ‘doon the toon’ to see the sights was distinctly lukewarm. Was it tiredness or was it fear? Anyway, the decision was made to retreat once more to the Punch Bowl where Paul could indulge in watching his beloved Stoke City beat a team on the verge of bankruptcy on Match of the Day. Surprisingly, we were in bed earlier than last night with even Carol’s late night card game failing to materialise.
Sunday dawned a bit duller with a chill in the air as I led a walk taking in as many green areas as Newcastle could muster along with the famous quayside. First we headed along to the famous Armstrong Bridge whose history I eventually managed to find in my notes. The craft fair was fortunately fairly sparsely populated by stands; our sole purchase being a fridge magnet! We descended into the delightful Jesmond Dene, which despite being surrounded on all sides by the city, feels like it could be a glade in the middle of the Yorkshire dales or Scotland. A friendly local told us more of the history of the ruined Armstrong ballroom and how Mr Armstrong had to have it extended so that the ladies didn’t get wet getting out of their landaus. He had a few bob; this Armstrong lad and wasn’t averse to splashing out.
We walked the full length of the lovely Dene; unfortunately failing to find a Kingfisher for Sandra (it’s only a matter of time), then a bit of urban walking took us onto the Town Moor; a huge expanse of common land between Newcastle and Gosforth. You could get Walmgate Stray into it about 20 times. We crossed the moor and the urban motorway; a place I associate with the start of the Great North Run. The next part of the walk was very nostalgic for me; passing my university halls of residence. The local chippy was still there but I was amazed to find the local pub closed. How a pub within 50 yards of a university halls of residence containing 1200 students can’t be a going concern beats me. Next it was across Leazes Moor; a smaller area of common land and into Leazes Park where we had lunch by the frozen lake. Lunch was the much-awaited Ham and Pease pudding served in a Geordie stottie cake. Sandra wasn’t convinced of its merits but Andy wasted none of what was left after everybody had made theirs. Not sure how close people would be sitting next to him on the train back!
From here, it was down to the river past St James’s Park via Chinatown with its impressive Chinese arch, along Gray Street with its impressive Georgian buildings and the castle itself from which the city got its name. Unfortunately the weather took a turn for the worst and it started to snow. We crossed the Swing Bridge, the oldest of the city’s bridges into Gateshead. We passed the interestingly-shaped Sage music centre; Tyneside’s version of the Sydney Opera House and known locally as ‘The Slug’ and took shelter from the snow in the Baltic Art Gallery; their Tate Modern. The view from the top floor along the river was impressive but the most popular reaction to the 3 displays on show seemed to be “Why is this art?”
Unenlightened by our artistic experience, we crossed the Gateshead Millennium Bridge (presumably Newcastle wouldn’t chip in for a share); apparently the world's first and only tilting bridge. A bit like York’s but it opens like a blinking eyelid. The remnants of the Sunday quayside market was looking a bit sad by this time in the snow and morale dipped a bit as we struggled to find a café for a brew; turning our noses up at sitting outside the market’s tea vans in the snow. We southerners aren’t that hard. Fortunately, I managed to find a nice bistro right underneath the Tyne Bridge which served the purpose. In fact, Andy pronounced the Chocolate Brownie as the best he’d ever tasted.
Replenished by tea and cake and the weather brightening up, we made our way back along the quayside to the mouth of the Ouse Burn and followed this upstream. Whilst not the most attractive part of the city and well off the tourist trail, we came across a quirky artist quarter and clearly attempts are being made to revive the area. The river disappears briefly out of sight underneath the rather grandly named City Stadium which is a playing field with banked sides. After a bit more urban walking we entered the lowest of the string of parks which brought us eventually back to Jesmond Dene and the hostel.
Our return was well-timed as, shortly afterwards, the snow returned with a vengeance. The end of YOGs second urban weekend was deemed a success by all; with plenty of laughs as usual and a different type of walk. Although parts of the city have changed considerably in the last 30 years, I saw a lot that was new to me and I was left with a tinge of regret that I hadn’t spent more of the 3 years I’d lived there exploring unlicensed parts of the city.
First Liverpool; now Newcastle. Any offers for the next YOG urban weekend?
Bat out of Hill (Barrowburn Camping Barn – 7th to 9th August 2009)
Sue’s attempt to take the group where no YOGGIE has set foot before took us to the remote Upper Coquet valley of the Cheviots in Northumberland. Undeterred by blatantly advertising that the venue had no showers, 12 dirt-resistant members signed up for the weekend trip. Despite a detour which , much to the locals obvious inconvenience , had been in place for some weeks, our carload made it to the Rose and Thistle in time for a much-needed feed. From here, it was a further 6 miles up a dead end road to Barrowburn. The peace was initially shattered by the army doing night time bombing on the Otterburn ranges nearby but otherwise you’d have been hard pushed to find a quieter spot. The camping barn was an old school although you can’t imagine it ever having a very large number of pupils in such a remote spot. Tina and Ruth had arrived earlier and done the Tea Shop Walk. Yes, Barrowburn has a tea shop although, perhaps surprisingly, we didn’t sample it. After a welcome brew, we awaited the arrival of Paul and Carol’s car. When they did finally arrive, having sampled the delights of Rothbury, Paul proceeded to make a loud search for any hidden beds and showers. Sorry, Paul. Didn’t you read the e-mail? The camping barn was very pleasant inside but, as no beds were to be found, we used the sleeping platforms provided. The Saturday dawned warm and sunny and all of us headed for the tops of the Cheviots. They are rolling hills and the climbs are mostly fairly gentle. We reached the Pennine Way which here follows the border between England and Scotland. We climbed the hill of Windy Gyle and stopped for lunch on Kings Seat. Already we’d walked further from the barn than planned but, spurred on by the ambitious Tina, 4 of us continued to the peak of The Cheviot itself. Despite being told by people that “it’s not worth it”, we decided it was although it’s so flat on top that the views of the coast are definitely better from Cairn Hill, a mile before the peak itself. From the peak, we re-traced our steps along the Pennine Way and descended to the barn via a different route through hills and forestry. Having had a brew and some of Ruth’s Home made Ginger Cake (but no shower), it was down to the serious business of lighting the Barbie. With help from Paul (clearly more of a Barbie guru than me), it was quickly lit and blazed into action. I normally have to re-light it half a dozen times before it takes hold and are plagued by people keeping asking “Is it ready yet?” Sue’s idea of having a Barbie was a major success and a constant stream of excellent food passed from Barbie to Yoggie. Mention must be made of Carol’s excellent foil-baked potatoes which were so delicious that a black market was in danger of developing and any slight pause in eating them was pounced upon by others saying “Do you want the rest of that?”. Amazingly enough, many of us still found space for Ruth’s excellent Rhubarb Crumble and Custard (Crème Fraiche for the southerners). The latter stages of the meal and the rest of the evening were spent having a good laugh around the camp fire which Carol had lit; another great idea. This did have some effect in fighting off the Cheviot midges who were intent in showing their Scottish cousins across the border nearby that they lack nothing in their determination to annoy outdoor types. There was more excitement to come though. On returning to the barn itself, we discovered that it had been taken over by 4 bats who, in MeatLoaf fashion, were circling rapidly round the inside of the building. Nobody had a clue how to get them out. Somebody said that bats have no natural enemies. “What about Ozzy Osborne?” suggested Paul. As there was no chance of YOGs own Prince of Darkness (Neil) being found, let alone the Heavy Metal vocalist, we decided to open the windows and hope they’d just go away. Sally was full of “What if they get into your……(fill in the missing words) during the night" but as the barn’s bat population seemed to have dropped by this time and the only visibly roosting specimen chose the boys platform, she succumbed to bed. Sunday dawned a bit cloudier but we all decamped to nearby Alwinton for another walk in the lower Cheviots and the sun came out as we ate our lunch on top of another remote hill. Another great weekend that will be remembered for a long time to come.
To the Manor Born (or Don’t mention the Bra)
Whernside Manor weekend, Dent – 22 -25 May 2009
Another memorable YOG weekend began (at least for 3 of us) with a delicious slap up meal at Jeremy’s Mum’s en route. However, as usual, the fayre for the rest of the weekend was also well up to scratch. It never ceases to amaze me how we manage to conjure up such great food for the price.
Most of us had seen the website for the venue, Whernside Manor, on the internet and, although we knew that we weren’t actually staying in the manor itself, I think we were all taken aback slightly by the ‘compactness’ of the bunkhouse hidden away to the side of it. We were to drink tea in a manor before the weekend was out but more of that later.
Undeterred by the fact that we would be spending the next 3 days in rather closer proximity than expected, we unloaded the cars and headed off to Dent village a couple of miles up the road to the pub. Dent is a quaint dales village with narrow, cobbled streets and two pubs. Having selected the Sun Inn as our choice of hostelry, we found Dave (B & B) in the bar. The village has 2 camp sites so the pubs were doing good business and rapidly filled up. A good evening to start the weekend with good company, a few laughs and the odd pint of Summer Lightning or Navvy (or was it Navy?). Then it was back to the bunkhouse and our sleeping pods. Most of us were sound asleep when Trev and ‘Paris’ arrived. Dennis was awake but generously chose not to show them to their bunks. Or did they just decide it was a bit too cosy inside and decided to put up their tent in the dark instead?
Most of us slept surprisingly well on the comfortable mattresses; give or take the dawn chorus and the cows. Some of the birds sounded as if they were living in the building itself. This indeed proved to be the case; as a deposit was made in Sue’s boot the following night. “There’s poop in ma boot” was the cry.
Weather wise, Saturday was the worst day of the 3 but not bad really. It started off a bit drizzly and misty but, as Jeremy led us first along the south side of the valley and then across and up to Rise Hill, it cleared considerably. A walk along the ridge gave great views of the Dentdale valley and surrounding hills although the lunch stop at the peak of Aye Gill Pike was a bit chilly. However, from that point onward, the weather just got better and better. From the end of the ridge, it was a pleasant descent into the village. Here, Jeremy moved extremely quickly to procure the last piece of delicious-looking chocolate cake from the shop (“We’ll be getting some more tomorrow”). Some went to sample one of the village tea shops whilst we returned to the bunkhouse via the river side where we were rewarded with a view of a Kingfisher.
On arrival, we found that the ‘Silver Fox’ had arrived by bike but was unable to get the cooker to work. However, greater minds soon rectified this problem in time for us to sample his excellent Pork Stew. This was followed by Dennis’s (“That IS a small portion”) Tiramisu. Low fat; of course. I was wondering how long I’d have to extend tomorrows walk to burn it off!
Just before dinner, Jane had had an encounter with our somewhat eccentric host, ‘Lord’ Gerry (“but you can call me Gerry”); who regaled her with tales of the manor’s 6 ghosts and various other stories and tall tales; before telling her that she shouldn’t really be sitting in ‘Elaine’s Throne’. Jane pronounced him completely bonkers and, following an encounter with some misidentified underwear, was never quite the same afterwards.
The showers, at least, were hot and spacious. More than enough room for 3 although there was a lot of steam emitting from them (or was it just hot air?).
After our excellent dinner, we all decided to walk back to the village to the Sun Inn again. This time it was packed and, despite the cool evening, we were initially confined to the beer garden. There followed a light-hearted game of ‘Which famous person would you bring along to a YOG walk’ in which most of the girls chose fit actors from T.V. programmes that nobody else had heard of (“I wasn’t asking him for his conversation”) and most of the boys went for highly intelligent female presenters who, by complete coincidence, were quite good looking as well. From here, the conversation just went downhill and we soon managed to clear the rest of the beer garden and moved indoors to do the same there. Bev and Ben arrived at the pub where Ben could try and put the lost cricket match out of his mind.
Then it was back for another comfortable night in the bunkhouse. It actually proved to be a good choice as the camping area was somewhat hilly and bumpy and the occupants were exposed to the full volume of the dawn chorus and the vocal local bovines.
Sunday dawned warm and sunny and boded well for my walk. I was saved from a lack of forward planning of this by Bev’s book which just happened to have a perfectly good walk from Dent in it. Jeremy suggested a slight amendment along the north side of the valley which proved fortuitous. Whilst passing a farm, a rather well-spoken lady emerged with her hands covered in flour and asked us “Do you like cake?” From a group which has sometimes been described as a cake eating group with a side interest in walking, this was music to our ears. It wasn’t even time for elevenses and the cake was clearly in it’s formative stage but we were told that the time and place to get it was a place called Gate Manor that afternoon. A quick inspection of the map showed that the aforementioned residence was rather close to the route so we promised to call in later.
We continued through beautiful meadows packed with wild flowers and then climbed up over the moor land before dropping into the edge of Sedbergh where lunch was taken by the side of the river. Despite the beauty of the lunch spot, cake was on our minds so it was soon onwards and upwards before we descended once again into the Dentdale valley in search of the other manor. We weren’t to be disappointed and, despite some of the poorest marketing I’ve come across (Maybe the entire event was based on ladies coming out of farm houses accosting groups of walkers), we eventually found the place.
Gate Manor was a beautiful Victorian country house set in very attractive gardens. Despite our walking boots , we were invited into the manor itself to take tea and cake; which was a somewhat surreal experience. We then had a walk round the lovely gardens where photographs were taken. Some of the girls’ suggestion of a Calendar Girls photo for Jeremy’s camera was toned down slightly for the occasion. We didn’t even get thrown out!
From here, it was a pleasant walk along the river to Dent where Dave left us to catch his train and the rest of us failed to resist the lure of the pub and , in the case of a few, the lure of the chips. To help the cake down, I presume? Sally’s Tesco shopping list had come in for a bit of stick over the last couple of days (Don’t mention the Marmalade) but a trip to the Dent village shop proved equal to the task of replenishing the cheese supply; as well as providing Ben with supper.
Back to the bunkhouse once again for another splendid feast; this time courtesy of Trev. His vegetarian pasta dish even had the carnivorous Ling clamouring for seconds. Peter’s ever-reliable Apple Pie and Crumble followed whilst Ling showed why she doesn’t need a dishwasher at home whilst finishing off the Tiramisu.
It was a tough decision what to do in the evening but, after hard thinking, we decided to walk to the pub again. The days walk had taken it’s toll on Dennis who opted to drive instead. This may have saved his legs but didn’t save him from an encounter with Lord Gerry somewhat akin to the wedding guest’s encounter with the Ancient Mariner. He arrived in the pub looking a bit shell-shocked. We sadly had to say goodbye to Trev and ‘Paris’, who had to work the following day; on a Bank holiday. It shouldn’t be allowed really. We duly promised to call her at elevenses the next day to commiserate; a plan thwarted by lack of phone reception.
Our last day, Bank Holiday Monday, dawned even hotter and the sun cream supplies were tested to the limit. Sally led an excellent walk (also from Bev’s book) east along the Dent valley, past the sadly missed former Youth Hostel. After elevenses by the river and lunch by a stream , we climbed up onto Blea Moor to join the Three Peaks path up Whernside. Not today though. That was to be saved for Ling’s Three Peaks weekend. The heat was taking its toll but we were soon descending back to Whernside Manor and the end of the walk.
Not quite the end of the weekend though. Some of us drove to Snaizeholme near Hawes in search of Red Squirrels. Despite the claim that we were “almost certain to see (them)” from the very clearly-marked Red Squirrel viewing area, we didn’t! However, the trip was to end on a high note when tea and very high standard Lemon Drizzle cake was discovered nearby. Although, Jeremy did point out that the tea and cake cost half as much as the food for the rest of the weekend!
All in all, a fantastic YOG weekend with lots of laughs, great weather, fantastic walking in beautiful Dent dale. Bring on the next one!
And from the archives - Wastwater – Oct 14th – 16th 2005
The weekend began for some earlier than others. Neil and Dave Pearson left York at 6.00 on Friday morning and were already in the mountains by 9.00 for their first epic walk of the weekend. Alan’s crew arrived late morning for a more leisurely walk around the little-visited Devoke Water (I had to look it up too!). For the rest of us, it was a drive up after work which, being on the west side of the lakes, took a bit longer than usual. Most of us met at the Screes pub in Nether Wasdale for a nice pub meal with a friendly landlord, before returning to the hostel. For anybody who hasn’t visited Wastwater hostel, it’s a beautiful old historic house in a fabulous location, overlooking the beautiful lake.
As there were a mere 23 of us staying at the hostel; not to mention a couple of late bookers in outlying B & Bs, on the Saturday we split up into 3 groups. Janet led a walk round the lake; braving the scary-looking screes on the opposite side where a false step could easily have led to an autumnal swim in England’s deepest lake! Neil and Dave P found a surprising number of masochists for their second epic of the weekend, which actually included a visit to the summit of Scafell Pike for the second consecutive day. Not to mention Illgill Head, Scafell and other peaks too numerous to mention. They met their match in Fiona who has that disconcerting habit of breaking into a trot when she gets within a few hundred feet of a peak.
I led a larger group up the lesser known peaks to the north of the lake; including Haycock and Scoat Fell; before hitting the more popular Pillar. The morning was misty on the tops but from our lunch shelter huddled behind a low wall, we were able to get occasional glimpses of YOGs favourite hostel; the remote Black Sail in the Ennerdale Valley. However, it all changed when we reached the summit of Pillar. The cloud cleared completely; affording magnificent views in all directions. Only the summit of Scafell was still in cloud – sorry, chaps! Complacency obviously set in at this point as I promptly led the group the wrong way off the summit before re-tracing our steps. Paul Bushnell, using his GPS wizardry, later showed me where we were heading on the wrong path. Best you don’t see it!
Buoyed up by the clearer views, myself, Alan and Helen decided to do Kirk Fell as well with more great views before descending via the steep route to Wasdale Head. Here we caught the rest of our group supping tea in the beer garden behind the hotel. They generously left us a cup before heading off to the hostel. Just as we were leaving to follow them, who should appear but Jon and Juliet; having taken a slightly shorter alternative to the Stainton-Pearson marathon. From here it was a 5 mile flattish road walk along the lake to the hostel; unless you happened to get picked up by Cynthia who ferried a few of the weary. I’ve never seen Paul and Sarah move so fast to be first in the car! Neil and Fiona actually caught us up just before we got back to the hostel although Dave P cut it distinctly fine for dinner; arriving in the dining room on the dot of 7.00. Sorry, Dave, No sausages left! The meal was good hostel fare; after which we all retired to the beautiful lounge-cum-library for the rest of the evening; a room which wouldn’t appear out of place in a stately home.
Sunday saw the sort of weather that you just dream about when walking in the mountains. It was an absolutely beautiful, warm autumn day with colours I can’t begin to describe and a temperature more like July than October. Neil, Dave P and Fiona went off to do the few bits of the Lake District that they hadn’t already covered in the first two days whilst I led a group up the interesting peak of Yewbarrow; one I didn’t think I’d done before (Could this have had something to do with the choice?). Whilst not a high peak, it’s quite a steep ascent and , being so close to Wastwater itself, gives great views along the lake and surrounding area. After elevenses on the summit, we descended to the col on the far side. At this point, we split into 2 groups with one descending directly whilst the rest of us climbed up the other Red Pike; not to be confused with the more popular peak of the same name in the Buttermere group. It was hot work going up in the sun. To give you some idea of just how warm it was, most of the group were able to sit in shorts and t-shirts on the peak for lunch; and this in Mid-October. At Sue’s suggestion (she does occasionally talk me into making the right decision), we followed a different route down from the one I’d originally planned, via Scoat Tarn. Here, we had a lengthy stop whilst Jon and Juliet actually went for a swim in the tarn. I was tempted but felt it was a bit cool so chickened out. How many times would you consider swimming in a tarn at all; let alone in October.
It was just one of those perfect days for walking in the Lakes and an excellent weekend was rounded off with a pot of tea back at the Screes in Nether Wasdale. Another YOG weekend where the lingering memories keep you going through those long days at work.