July 31, 2019: Whitby to Robin Hood’s Bay
In the rain I contemplate the ruins of Whitby Abbey.
There was no escaping the sound of rainfall as Gavan and I arose for the third day of our walk. I very much dislike walking in the rain, though it has to be done – views are restricted, perspiration makes you wet inside and out, and photo opportunities are often limited. At least we had the opportunity of donning full wet gear before departure – Gavan had not brought any rain pants (he was walking in shorts by this time) but I had these and my rain jacket in place as we headed down the hill at about 9:15.
If anything it was raining harder than it had been to this point and I had no hesitation in following Gavan into a local bakery where we picked up some sandwiches and some crisps for lunch. (Gavan had a cherry bakewell on the spot.) Lunches were stuffed into Gavan’s backpack for he had again suggested that I walk without one of my own and I had therefore stuffed mine into my suitcase for transfer by the Sherpa folk. I carried only my map case, containing Xeroxes of the trail guide by Ian Sampson and, of course, my cane.
We made one additional stop before crossing the harbor bridge. Gavan, with his heightened sensitivity to odor, had objected mightily to the aroma of the Deep Heat I was using to rub into my various stiff and sore body parts so we headed for a nearby Boots where some time was spent with the assistance of the staff in selecting an odorless equivalent. It was now 9:30
Across the bridge we turned left to pass through some charming venerable cobbled streets, arriving at last at the first major challenge of the day, the famous Church Stairs. It was now necessary to surmount 199 steps as we rose, first past the imposing St. Mary’s Church itself and then onto the level that contained the dramatic ruins of Whitby Abbey. Cameras came out of course and, with rain falling on and off throughout the day, we reached the coastal footpath once again.
Fog Horn and Lighthouse at Whitestone Point.
A large holiday park appeared ahead of us on our right as we trundled along and on our left was the imposing promontory of Saltwick Nab. Next we passed through the holiday village itself and ahead of us we had both a foghorn station and a nearby lighthouse at Whitestone Point. The former actually had a seasonal café and how nice it would have been to have taken shelter here but as Gavan approached he was told by a lady nearby that the café was closed because of the adverse weather. In fact there was not that much falling from the skies at this point and, as we found a bench on which we could open our lunch sacks, I was congratulating myself that our efforts of the previous day had meant for a far shorter stretch to our nighttime accommodation today. All this celebration was more than premature.
I had been anticipating another melancholy reunion for at about the half-way mark I knew we would encounter the very last section of Wainwright’s Coast-to-Coast Path, a route I had completed with Tosh and Harold Lee in 2000. These wonderful walking companions were both gone now but I remembered the day we had reached Robin Hood’s Bay, again our destination today. Though it had been a bright, sunny morning when we did this I was certain I remembered no great challenges on the way and I was anticipating a gentle stroll of three and half miles ahead of us now.
At Maw Wyke Hole we had to drop down on steps into the streambed and climb back up a steep counterpart on the other side in order to affect the reunion with Wainwright’s path. In fact there were a number of crossings like this still to come – strange that I remembered none of this. To make matters worse the rain had turned the path into a slimy and treacherous ribbon and steps were particularly dangerous today.
The approach to Robin Hood’s Bay involves several stream crossings and a footpath that can turn to treacherous paste after rain – as I would soon find out.
The guidebook makes note of this peril but in spite of great care and the prodding assistance of my cane I fell onto my back when we were only an hour or so from our goal. “Are you injured?” Gavan wanted to know. “Only my dignity is hurt,” I was able to answer – as he helped me to my feet and we inched our way forward. Part of the problem was that mud was jammed into the treads of my boots – making the latter almost useless in obtaining purchase on the morass at our feet.
I fell heavily a second time, though on this occasion I was facing forward and I banged my left arm on a protruding rock and ripped my rain pants. I waited to catch my breath and Gavan hauled me to my feet once again. Around only a few more bends we found a bench which gave us our first view of Robin Hood’s Bay itself. It was still very gray and visibility was restricted but it was a relief to have the end in sight and after a bit of a rest we continued on into the town. Our b&b, Streonshalh on Mount Pleasant South, was near the top of the town and soon reached. It was only 3:45 and we had walked 7.5 miles but my pleasure in arriving at this spot was naturally dimmed for I could already feel through my rain jacket a major contusion on my left forearm.
I stripped down to my t-shirt and now I could see rising from the top of the forearm an egg-sized swelling – not at all a pleasant sight, though I did not seem to be in any pain and I was certain I had broken no bones. Our host, Kevin, had a look at the injury as well and suggested that we have it checked out at the nearby doctor’s surgery – only a short distance away. We walked over here but found only a cleaner on the premises; she said the surgery was closed this afternoon.
We retraced our route as far as the Grosvenor Hotel on the corner and sat down at a table near the front door of the pub. The publican had soon supplied me with a bag of ice in which to nestle my arm and he and the other barflies all suggested that we should perhaps seek the advice of the casualty department of Whitby’s NHS Hospital. Behind us was a rack with the business cards of Andy’s Taxi and Gavan put in a call. There was hardly time to get down most of my pint before Andy showed up and we began a short ride back to Whitby. I was in a state of mild shock and matters were not helped when a sensory mechanism in the cab reacted to stalled traffic in front of us and slammed on the breaks – without any assistance from Andy. Both Gavan and I were hurtled forward into the back of the front seats – I braced myself with my injured arm but it still did not hurt very much.
Andy knew all the ins and outs of hospital access and told us which door to use to get into A&E. There were a few other members of the walking wounded here – one chap was here with a mysterious insect bite and another had a bloody knee. He told us that he had bought a hot dog down by the pier and that he had lost his sausage (and his balance) to a marauding seagull.
An ancient receptionist/nurse soon summoned me to her desk where she took down my details (name and date of birth) and asked me to conform my address – which she had already summoned on her computer. Gavan, who works in a hospital, was amazed at the efficiency of the system. Yes, the place was a bit on the shabby side but I was treated promptly by a nurse practitioner and, of course, the subject of fees never came up. The conclusion was that, indeed, nothing was broken and I had just suffered a really bad bruising. The first nurse encased the left arm in a stretch-fabric sleeve and we were free to summon Andy again.
Back in Robin Hood’s Bay we got cleaned up at our b&b and returned to the Grosvenor for our evening meal. Seated next to us was a party with four Shih-Tzus. The gents liked to dip their fingers into the foam of their beer and let the dogs lick this off. (No wonder they were soon all asleep.) I had asked our proprietor to put some gel that I always carry with me into his freezer and I strapped this to my arm when we returned to the b&b at the end of an all too-memorable day.
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