August 3, 2019: Scarborough to Filey

Truth to tell, I didn’t feel that chipper as Gavan and I rose for the last day of our walk on the Cleveland Way. I blame all that food I had been packing in. I usually eat only twice a day and this increases to three times a day on walks. Then there was yesterday’s overindulgence – two pints, a gin and tonic, a margarita and all that rice and beans at El Gringos. It took me several passes at the bathroom before I was able to reduce this bulk and the last thing I was interested in was breakfast. Gavan said he would just as soon skip this meal as well and so, after slowly putting together my case for the Sherpa folk, I was ready to join him on an early start for our march to Filey. It was 8:20.

It was again an overcast morning as we made our departure from the Esplanade Hotel and most of those we encountered as we made our way along the pavements were here to walk dogs. Hotels and private residences continued to dominate the scene on our right for some time – and ornamental gardens on our left. We passed a large clock tower and finally put paved roads behind us for a while – using paths through scrubland along Wheatcroft Cliff. Far out at sea a flotilla of sailing boats danced on the surface of the waves.

When I caught up with Gavan he said he couldn’t wait here a moment longer – for his ever-sensitive nose had detected sewage nearby. When we rendezvoused again it was after the path had climbed up to a suburban street ­– where we sat down on some cement slabs that lined somebody’s driveway. Gavan asked me if I wanted anything to eat – we still had a few things in our old lunch sack – but, though I was feeling much better, I declined. I asked him what town we were in and he said it was Osgodby.

He had been making an intense study of the OS map on his telephone and he suggested that there was a way of retaining our elevation – rather than dropping down to the sea with the official route to Johnny Flinton’s Harbor and than climbing back up again. This involved the use of another cycle route, one that relied on an abandoned stretch of roadway, and we took to this after our rest. It wasn’t that long before we were joined by the Cleveland Way, coming up from our left.

On our left now we were now accompanied by the long sprawl of Cayton Sands, a mecca for vacationers we soon discovered. In fact we came quite close to the sands themselves as we crossed an access road to the beach but this enabled me to answer a question for three ladies who were heading our way as they searched for refreshments. They asked me if there was any place serving food on the beach and I was able to confirm this, having spotted its roof only a few minutes earlier. Gavan and I continued to climb a bit but somewhere around here we found some slatted seats bearing coy titles (like “Rump Rest”) and here we paused for a few minutes. Gavan urged me to eat something and I did eat a cookie and some banana bread that we had been carrying around for days.

We passed over Lebberston Cliff and above Gristhorpe Sands. The sun was burning through the haze and visibility was improving but there was still no definitive sighting of our afternoon’s principal goal, Filey Brigg. Gavan got well ahead of me on this stretch and I had trouble identifying which distant patch of black might be himself. I would have to say, however, that I did not lack for company for the path was crowded with trippers and genuine walkers – indeed heading toward me was a group of geriatric walkers, fifteen in number.

I passed a caravan park and Cunstone Nab and I was now able to identify a line of distant structures off to the right that must be the town of Filey itself. Only North Cliff remained ahead and I chose one of several paths here to make my way down to the spot on the headland where Filey Brigg itself lay jutting its tongue of rock into the sea ahead. Gavan was here, there were signs saying access beyond this point was embargoed, and that meant that we had come to the end of the Cleveland Way. It was 2:30.

There was no problem in finding someone to take our photo here – there were so many visitors about – and some women soon obliged.

Astute readers of these accounts will recall that Filey Brigg is also the end point of a second National Trail, the Yorkshire Wolds Way, and that Gavan and I, having reached Filey itself at 7:10 at the end of a tiring day two years earlier, had not, in fact, come out here then. So, just in case anyone has been bothered by this omission, the mile or so walk back into Filey could now satisfy this yen for completeness.

It was not easy to see our way down onto the Filey sands from here but Gavan could spot the route of the YWW keeping our elevation before it plunged into a last wooded canyon (and back up again) on its way to Filey. So we set off to join up with this route, reclimbing our headland and passing a Cleveland Way finger post that listed the distance back to Helmsley, where we had started last year, at 109 miles.

A young lad heading our way on a bicycle fell heavily onto the grass as he hit a curb here ­– earlier I had seen a young girl on foot fall over as well. (Join the club.) We passed a line of parked cars and found the path into the canyon, dropping a great distance on steps. But when we reached an access road at the bottom I suggested to Gavan that instead of climbing steeply up again we might now take to the sands ourselves for our final approach to Filey town. He agreed on this strategy.

Ahead of us we had the crowded holiday scene, the bathers, the sandcastles, the wet patches on the sand – and we even witnessed the launching of the RNLI lifeboat, which was off to pluck some unlucky visitors from the sea. A slanting roadway lined with amusement arcades and food kiosks lead us up to a roadway – where I spotted a chap wearing a UCLA Bruins t-shirt. As we neared the town Gavan found a steep but short roadway with steps and a useful hand rail that brought us up the level of a town I like to refer to as Scarborough Junior. It was 4:00 and we had walked 9.5 miles.

I suggested a pub stop and Gavan, after some phone research, nominated the Imperial, just around the corner on a side street. It was easy to identify from the number of smokers lined up outside the front door. One of these was our barmaid, who followed us inside and dealt adroitly on her own with the requests of the barflies. I had some peanuts now and a Diet Coke on ice and a double Jack Daniels. Gavan and I clinked glasses in celebration of our accomplishment – we had walked a total of 57 miles on this trip and this dovetailed with the 43 I had completed only a few weeks before on the Coleridge Way to make my 2019 total an even 100 miles.

We had a nice relaxing time and then made some minor shopping stops while Gavan sized up some evening meal possibilities and we twice ran into our barmaid on her break. Our b&b, the Seafield on Rutland Street, was nearby and we headed here next. To my surprise it was next door to the b&b we had used in 2017 – but Gavan had failed to find room at this spot when he did his booking so we did not feel particularly disloyal.

Our host, Jeremy, followed us into our ground floor room and sat down to quiz us on our travel plans. I had told Gavan, who wanted the first available train connection for King’s Cross since he had a flight from Heathrow at 6:00 pm, that this connection would have us leaving Filey on the next morning a 9:46 but changing at nearby Seamer only a few minutes later – with almost 45-minutes to wait on the platform here. Gavan suggested that it would be more comfortable to take a taxi to Seamer and begin our train journey there. Jeremy was very familiar with this problem, thought the taxi idea was a good one, and phoned to make a reservation for us before leaving our room.

When it was time for dinner we walked a few blocks back toward the Imperial and lined up at a busy fish and chips restaurant, Inghams. This place had a take-away window but its restaurant would close at 7:15 and we were soon enough admitted to a table in the back. I had the haddock and chips – they were out of cod. Indeed, when I asked for ice with my Diet Coke they were out of ice and when I asked for another Diet Coke they brought me only a can – they were out of glasses too.

An unusual incident punctuated our attempts at sleep. I could here raised voices in the street behind us and sounds of an altercation and even the tinkle of broken glass in the hallway. In the morning Jeremy explained that a fight among drunks had done in his door glass. We had also heard the police ringing his doorbell at 1:00 am.

After a nice breakfast we put our things together for the last time. Gavan had said he wanted a swim in the North Sea – and I wanted him to dispose of my ripped rain pants on the way – but he did not go and I had to dispose of the pants back in London. We stood outside at 10:20 and when a car pulled up Gavan began to move our things to its boot – only to discover that this was not a cab at all –“I could be if the price is right,” the driver said as he went next door. He was soon followed by the real taxi and a ten-minute ride had us on the busy platform in Seamer.

We travelled to York and looked up the platform for our connecting train to London but it was late and they changed the platform only five minutes before it was due to arrive and there was a mad charge up and and down steps to get into position. This train was severely overcrowded as well and some people stood most of the way. Gavan had to displace one chap since we had seat reservations. No one looked at any of our tickets today.

Just as we were pulling into King’s Cross at about 2:00 I got a call on my mobile from Linda, who had been looking after my Otto in my absence. She was delighted we were so close to home since she and Rob were heading out of town and they could return the dog within the hour. Gavan accompanied me as far as the taxi queue and we said goodbye as he headed off to Heathrow. I inched forward with my bag, my knapsack on my back again, but there was a steady stream of cabs and the wait was not too long.

Linda, Rob and Otto were standing on my front porch when we reached Maida Vale and Rob helped me carry my bags upstairs. It felt great to return to the comforts of home but I had really enjoyed this outing on the Cleveland Way.

Footpath Index:

England: A Chilterns Hundred | The Chiltern Way | The Cleveland Way | The Coast-to-Coast Path | The Coleridge Way | The Cotswold Way | The Cumberland Way | The Cumbria Way | The Dales Way | The Furness Way | The Green London Way | The Greensand Way | The Isle of Wight Coast Path | The London Countryway | The London Outer Orbital Path | The Norfolk Coast Path | The North Downs Way | The Northumberland Coast Path | The Peddars Way | The Pennine Way | The Ridgeway Path | The Roman Way | The Saxon Shore Way | The South Downs Way | The South West Coast Path | The Thames Path | The Two Moors Way | The Vanguard Way | The Wealdway | The Westmorland Way | The White Peak Way | The Yorkshire Wolds Way