August 1, 2018: Osmotherley to Carlton Bank
A flagstone path eases the descent on Scarth Wood Moor.
We had excellent luck on this trip with the provision of breakfast at an early hour and so at 8:00 we were able to report for our morning meal at Vane House. Here we also received our packed lunches and by 9:15 we were able to head off for a day that surely looked like the most challenging one in our itinerary.
Gavan announced that he really wanted to visit the Lady Chapel, north of Osmotherley and only slightly off-route, and we agreed to separate for the first stage of our trek, the ascent of Beacon Hill. Of course I was now following my own footsteps for in 2000 I had walked with Tosh and Harold all the way from Osmotherley to the Bloworth Crossing as part of our Coast-to-Coast path conquest. (I must say that C-to-C signage was almost non-existent though Cleveland Way markers were still frequently available.) So I was retracing familiar territory as I headed steeply uphill and turned left on a track that circled above Osmotherly, passed the turn-off to the Lady Chapel and a farm and approached the woodland that surrounds the summit of Beacon Hill. Retracing familiar territory and yet this route brought few direct memories – surely this ascent was not as steep or protracted eighteen years ago.
The iPhone went off in my pocket and I could see that Gavan was calling to ascertain my position. He seemed surprised that I was now ahead of him but he had overtaken me by the time we had reached our first summit and its communications hardware. I found a place to sit down and then we began, after passing through some gates, to descend on a flagged path through Scarth Wood Moor. Views to the north were opening up and at our feet we were again accompanied by lovely heather. Eventually we reached a road at Scarth Nick. A stretch of forestry followed – east the dominant direction now – and surfaces were comfortable and mostly level. A division of the tracks was decorated with an unhelpful arrow in the crux of the vee. Here I found some other walkers puzzling this out – surely when the surfaces split like this the directional sign should be placed a little way along the correct route and not ambiguously sited between the two. The other walkers seemed to speak no English but fortunately Gavan was nearby with his maps and could confirm where they were to go.
In fact Gavan had discovered a bench in the undergrowth on our left and he and I had a nice rest. I did remember this spot, a famous viewpoint, but in the years since my last visit the foreground trees had grown up enough to obscure the vista. Still I had to recall that here the Lees and I, alas both gone now, had also stopped in order to eat some apples. I thought of these walking pals on many occasions today.
Gavan finds a level stretch as we descend from Scarth Wood Moor.
A descent began now, with much woodland still in evidence, and we crossed a field – with Gavan getting ever farther ahead of me. The route took us over Piper Beck and we reached a road and a brief taste of civilization. The road crossed Scugdale Beck and wound around to pass Hollin Hill Farm and head for a junction with the Huthwaite Green road. As I was struggling along the latter stages of this stretch another walker, heading my way, paused to say, “Gavan says he has a cold beer waiting for you!” The tease.
I found Gavan sitting on a bench at the start of the Live Moor ascent and here we had a serious conference. Gavan had secured accommodation for us from a b&b proprietor who had offered to pick us up either at Carlton Bank or, three and a half miles further on, at Clay Bank. It was now suggested that I should aim to end this strenuous day at Carlton Bank and that Gavan would not only try to reach the more distant Clay Bank but return to rendezvous with me at Carlton Bank – with our landlord then returning us to more distant point tomorrow. Ordinarily I would have been most reluctant to leave a gap like this but Gavan’s suggestion came with the understanding that I had already walked the missing portion and it could thus be skipped in good conscience. I felt most relieved by this idea, for I had been worrying about the challenge of the stretches ahead all morning. Gavan handed me my lunch sack and began his own trek without me.
I rested a little while longer and then began the path up into Live Moor Plantation. Some of this was extremely steep and I made only painfully slow progress. At one point a jogger, running downhill on a parallel path paused to say, “Are you all right? You seem to be moving very slowly there.” I responded with some bitterness, I’m afraid, “When you get to be eighty perhaps you will move slowly as well.” Of course my interlocutor was full of apologies over his intrusion and I felt rather guilty over my retort.
I continued the upward struggle and eventually passed through a gate that offered access to the moorland path itself. Two women came through at this time and one mentioned how wonderful the views were. “Yes,” I added resignedly, “but they sure make you work for them.” The path continued to rise and I met another two women working their way down the flagstones; one complained, “We sure are tired of all this down – so you must be tired of all the up as well.” The path made its way up Round Hill, leveling off a bit as Live Moor itself was reached. It was quite warm up here and, of course, there was not a tree in sight. A chap walking in the opposite direction now stopped to note how popular this route was becoming. “I refer to it as the A19,” he said; my response was, “I don’t. I call it the Wainwright Memorial Highway.”
At the summit of Live Moor a cairn, evidently of ancient lineage, was located – and visitors were warned not to add or remove any of its stones. I added only my own bum – since this was the only place to sit down and it was time to open my lunch. I ate a tuna fish sandwich and took on lots of liquid while studying the flagged path as it wound its way up Carlton Moor. Now I received the first of several phone calls from Gavan (ah, the modern walker), checking on my progress. It was a long pull up to the top of Carlton Moor but I did note that heather had made further advances on the abandoned runways of the local glider club.
The descent to Carlton Bank begins here
At last I reached the highest point on Carlton Moor and began the steep, slow descent to Carlton Bank. One of Gavan’s calls advised me of a contoured alternative but I never found it. Near the bottom an American couple were gingerly making their way up the path – a grouse preceding them as it searched for a hole in the adjacent fence. “I’ve never seen anyone herding grouse before,” I told them. The chap said he was thinking of taking it home with him.
With the Carlton Bank roadway in sight I received another call from Gavan. He had surmounted the next three hills, climbed the Wainstones and used a low level alternative to return to Carlton Bank. I told him I would be able to join him shortly but first I spoke to some people heading uphill with three dogs – “You will shortly discover the superiority of four feet to two.” I crossed the road and asked some other walkers if they knew the whereabouts of the famous Lordstones bistro (I had trouble locating it in 2000 as well). They said the Cleveland Way would soon pass it by and sure enough there it was, though very much modernized (even offering accommodation and glamping now). Earlier Gavan had taunted me with the promise of beer; now, as I rounded a corner, there he was waiting for me with a cold pint of Moretti lager. It was 3:30 and I had walked seven miles.
We had a nice rest at a picnic table and Gavan called our landlord, who arrived after only ten minutes. This was Dave, his gray hair tied into a ponytail; he soon had us out of the hills and into his establishment, Dromonby Bridge on Busby Lane in Kirkby. A builder, Dave was considering retiring from the b&b business in order to concentrate on building projects of his own – perhaps including the farmhouse where he was now situated. We had a nice clean-up and a rest and at 6:30 he drove us to the Black Swan in Kirkby, where we had a nice meal – and more beer. At the adjacent table were two couples, also staying with Dave, and we enjoyed sharing tales of the walk with them. (They were walking to raise money for a hospice for dying babies and Gavan, I later discovered, made a donation.) Dave lurked behind us at the bar with his Guinness but soon he was able to deliver us to our bedrooms after a memorable day. “The Black Swan folks ought to give Dave a commission,” I concluded.
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