The Lazy Cherub Enigma: Moo-ving on into the Moors

OMG I am getting to old for this! Walking all day is great if you have nothing else you want or need to do afterwards. Like eat or shower… Or sleep or binge on Netflix...

Day 12 – Danby Wiske to Osmotherley - 19.1 km

This was another one of those plod through the fields days. Instead of canola we had oceans of green rippling wheat to wade through. Then it was the death defying crossing of the A19. Nothing says tranquil walk like human frogger on a 4-lane freeway. I think it’s important to have moments where your life passes before your eyes in order to appreciate the need for good sidewalks and pedestrian overpasses. Surviving a freeway no sheep could cross, we headed up to Mount Grace Priory to thank god we did not become Wainwright Road Pizza. The Priory was founded 1084 by St. Bruno – a Carthusian monk. He and his followers believed the world to be inherently evil and filled with temptation. Therefore, anyone belonging to this particular order was a hermit. To achieve this, each hermit had his own deluxe cottage enclosed in high brick walls. Quite spacious actually with personal gardens and – holy of holies – PLUMBING. The drainage system rivaled anything the Romans came up with. I am still trying to get my head around luxury hermit condos. Then there is the fact that they were only allowed to sleep between 2 AM and 5 AM. Three hours sleep is ungodly but, if you are a hermit – who checks up on you if you nap?!?! In any event, all that came to an end in 1539 when Henry VIII became too tempted by the Priory’s wealth. Skipping through the bits where the Priory was plundered and the land sold and resold to various people of personage it finally ended up in the hands of Sir Lowithian Bell - "high priest of British Metallurgy" - and total douche bag and patron of the arts. And why does this matter? Well because Sir Lowithian also had a granddaughter, Gertrude, who inherited Lowithian’s fierce intellect (and wealth) and decided she would see and change the world – by camel. My solo travelling feminist friends know exactly who I am talking about and for those who don’t, you really should. Gertrude Bell is a billion times more fascinating than T.E. Lawrence and is the entire reason he was even in the Middle East in the first place. Highlight of this site: being told by the ticket lady to head upstairs to the attic to check out the “Lonely Thomas Exhibit.” This happened to be a guy sitting in the attic who just wanted to talk about hand hewn wooden beams. Onto Osmotherby and our accommodations – The Vane House. This place is run by a 74 year old man who looks at least 20 years younger than that. He owns half the town. Anyway, we noticed in his office a giant framed photo of a 4 yr. old boy and assumed he was a proud grandfather. Nope. It’s his son. Turns out he had been a bachelor and “property dealer” all his life. Then, a few years back, he met a woman and decided it was time to retire and start a family. So The Vane House is for sale if anyone wants to run a B&B and perhaps find a bodacious 30 yr. old farmer’s daughter to breed with…

Day 13 – Osmotherley to Clay Bank Top - 20.5 km

Now’s the part where we get into the Moors proper. Nothing says Wainwright experience than a tough day roller coastering your way up and down the hills of North York. It is a walk that I absolutely loved and would have hated if I did it in the peak of summer. With no shade and vast open expanses it is a ground bird’s paradise and a ginger’s demise. Thankfully, I am not fair skinned but my lips have still not forgiven me for denying them salve. This particular area is, in fact, a massive spread of privately owned land. It is where the elite come for 3 days in autumn to shoot pheasant and grouse for around $10,000 (not including accommodations, or cooking of game.) I was able to inadvertently flush out a number of “grouslings” so perhaps I can rent myself out this season as a game wrangler. At the half waypoint of this walk we arrived at Carlton Bank and the most welcome Lord Stones Café. LATTE AND SCONE TIME!! There seriously needs to be a coffee shop every 5 km on this walk. Happening simultaneously to this was a Hunting Dog competition just up the hill. This meant copious amounts of dog love from Golden Retrievers and Labs who are way, way more skilled than our dogs ever will be. We really got a kick watching them find the “sock bird,” These dogs actually listening to their owner’s when they say “go back” or “come forward” as well as various whistle tweets to cue “warm or cold” in getting closer to the prize. Then it was the slog up to the “Wainstones” where, finally able to get cell reception, we called in our pick up at Clay Top. There are no accommodations per se at this point of the Coast-to-Coast so B&B owners come and pick you up a the side of the road and then drop you back in the morning. For this night we were staying at the West Cote in Chop Gate. I am really loving the B&B owners at this stage in the walk. They are all unabashedly unconventional and treat you like family. Judy and Stuart were an absolute riot! Judy does equine therapy with autistic kids and rescues gypsy dogs. Stuart hangs out at the pub and feeds baby lambs. So about the lambs… When it is a good year, ewes will often have triplets but can only manage two. In that case, the farmer seeks out the strongest lamb and separates him/her to be bottle-fed. Stuart’s job is to bring the teat bucket to the lambs that are too strong for their own good and reside with the rams in a separate field. Nothing says “SQUEAL” than arriving at your B&B and being swarmed by a flock of wool balls running to you with open hooves. Nothing is more heart breaking than when the wool balls realize you are not in possession of the teat bucket of sustenance in which case they pee in your general direction and run away. Dinner was at the only place in town – The Buck Inn – run by an off the grid German guy. Everything he cooks has a pastry shell and comes with cabbage. From the looks of him, I am pretty sure the game pie I had was from game he caught with his bare hands. For breakfast the next morning, Judy did a full on cheese tasting platter with homemade bread and preserves. This woman loves cheese. I now know more about English cheeses than anyone in their right mind needs to know. But I am not complaining. I can’t think of too many times one gets sheep’s milk cheddar along side goat feta and Yorkshire Stilton at 8 am.

Day 14 – Chop Gate to Blakey - 14.9 km

Another spectacular day walking the moors and disturbing ground birds. We eventually make our way to the 400 yr. old Lion Inn – a lonely isolated refuge that is the fourth highest in Britain. This is another one of those pick up places where we overnight away from the trail and are dropped off again in the morning. I was so tired that I just curled up in a ball on a bench and slept until our ride came. This night had us at the August Guesthouse run by Michael and Mary – insanely avid bird lovers. There are birds everywhere at this place. Nesting in planter boxes, grazing in the lawn, chilling on the laundry line. I have never seen so many Tits and Peckers in my life! Mary refilled all the feeders so we could enjoy our tea gawking at the avian hordes. For dinner, Michael had to drive us into the village of Rosedale Abbey to a pub that had the most massive wolfhound I’ve ever seen. We saw her lying by the fireplace and at first thought she was a rug. There was one other guest at the B&B who also came down for dinner with us. He was doing the Cleveland Way walk as “training” for the Coast-to-Coast. He never said much – just sat at the bar with his Songs of Fire and Ice book pounding back pints and most likely brooding over the one that has him shunning all human interaction. All I know about him is he abhors cold food. I know this because Mary offered to pack him a lunch for the following day. “No thanks,” he replied curtly, “I will take a big breakfast and wait until I get to the next place for dinner. I don’t like cold things of any sort.” Unless, they are pints. He seemed to like those well enough the night before.