Hayburn Wyke

It seemed like I had the Yorkshire coast to myself. I guess most people do the Robin Hood Bay's walk from Ravenscar (see Robin Hoods Baywatch ), rather than heading southwards. I came to the derelict WWII Ravenscar radar station. It is possible to go into the field and inspect the half a dozen or so buildings. There's also some information boards that tell you about the purpose of each building.

I continued along the Cleveland Way and some wonderful views opened up down the coast. The cliffs just rolled away into a haze. I seemed to be gradually descending to sea level and this became much more dramatic when I came across some wooden stairs leading down to Hayburn Wyke. The stairs even had the luxury of a bannister. I'd not researched Hyburn Wyke and it turned out to be quite a gem of a place. Hayburn Beck cascaded down a clough in a series of waterfalls, before it fell in one larger waterfall on to the sea shore. The beach was a mixture of large rocks and boulders. They were icy and slippery from the frost and made walking over them treacherous. I met a couple and their dog near to the waterfall. The husband had commanded his wife to sit near the waterfall so that he could take a photo of her with his phone. I thought that was quite gallant given that they were both wearing trainers and were finding it more difficult to stand upright than me. I started chatting to them and they said that they were staying at the Raven Hall Hotel at Ravenscar. Looking at their trainers, I was tempted to ask if they'd played a spot of tennis before venturing out. They said they'd parked at the Hayburn Wyke Inn carpark and walked down the clough to the shore. I walked the same path, later in the day, and it only takes about 10 minutes. 

It was difficult to leave such a dramatic setting, but time was pressing and so I waddled back over the slimy boulders to the Cleveland Way and continued my way down the coast.

Rodger Trod

'Is there room for a small one?' I'd watched the old woman walk up to Rodger Trod from the south. She'd taken her time and she'd a small dog on a lead. I was sat on a bench eating my lunch and I'd got my rucksack and cameras laid out on the seat besides me. I'd half an idea that she might want to sit down given how she'd struggled up the hill. I put my cameras in my rucksack and she sat down. She lived in Scarborough, but she didn't like the place. I was curious about why she didn't like it, but when I was about to enquire, she started talking about her dog. 'She's only a year old and too young to let off the lead with these big cliffs about.' The dog was a little white terrier and looked a little jumpy. 'She's a rescue dog. I think the house she came from must have been very chaotic, because she's not good at following instructions.' She said that she'd got Poppy because her previous Terrier had just died. 'Seventeen and half years was a good age for her,' she added. I told her that I was making my way  to the disused railway track and she pointed out the path down to it. Fully rested the old woman and Poppy continued on their walk.

As I started packing my stuff up from the bench I looked at the memorial plaque screwed on to it. It said: 'In Memory Of Ann M. Hazell President Of Scarborough Rambling Club 1978-1993.' Crikey, that looked a tragic case. It was good of the Scarborough Rambling Club to make her president and provide this bench.

Map Reading

I found the disused railway line and started making my way northwards along it. There was plenty of birdlife in the surrounding trees. As I walked along, I heard a rustle behind me and I was about to turn around to have a look to see what was causing it, when a bloke on a racing bike came flying by me. If I'd turned around sooner, he would have hit my camera that was hanging off my shoulder. There had been plenty of room to ride on the other side of the trail, but he chose to zoom past me as close as possible. Later in the day, as I was driving away from Ravenscar, I came across this very same idiot cycling along the road. Momentarily, I did think about returning the compliment he'd given me, but gave him a wide berth once common sense returned.

The railway line brought me to the Hayburn Wyke Inn and I followed a path, down the clough, back to the sea and the Cleveland Way. I didn't bother going down on to the boulder beach this time and instead progressed up the north face of the Hayburn Wyke staircase. I had trouble controlling my breath as I climbed by two blokes who were descending. 'Not a path to rush, this one,' I gasped. 'You can say that again,' one of them replied. At last I reached the top and made easier progress back along the cliffs.

Return

'Where did you learn to read a map?' Two elderly fellows and their Labrador had met me as they walked southwards. They said they didn't know where they were, but they wanted to get to Cloughton. I got my paper OS map out and found Cloughton. His question did get me thinking though; where did I learn to read a map? I think it was probably through necessity, when walking through unknown territory as a youngster. I can't remember formally being told how to read a map; they never taught me anything useful like that at school. Before I answered him he said, ' We've seen folks nowadays using phones to find their way around. We don't know how to use them smart thingys though.' I showed them where they were on the map and also the location of Cloughton. 'Blimey, I thought we were much further along the coast than that,' the other one said. I told them to continue along the coast to Hayburn Wyke, and then follow the clough upwards until they reached the disused railway track. They could then follow the railway track down to Cloughton. They both thanked me and then started off towards Hayburn Wyke. For their dog's sake, I hope they found their way to Cloughton.

At Ravenscar, most of the frost had melted on the roads. At least the journey home would be less hazardous. The roadside parking was nearly full now; I guess people prefer a later start, than I do. It had been a glorious walk along the Yorkshire coast. Hayburn Wyke was the highlight; an unexpected, but welcome surprise.