Category: North York Moors
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A Walk along Hasty Bank to the Sound of Gunfire
A return to Hasty Bank along a lovely trod, an old favourite, thoughtfully chosen to avoid the paved motorway of the Cleveland Way. What a transformation from three days ago, when there was proper snow cover. Now the snow has almost melted away, revealing the bleak “bare bones of winter,” as some poet once lamented.…
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The Light: Conspiracy Bile Delivered Direct to Your Letterbox
There I was, about to embark on my virtuous trek up Roseberry Topping, coat in hand, when a free newspaper crashed through the letterbox like an unwelcome guest. A relic of a bygone era, I thought, since such things had ceased to grace my street years ago. Still, the design carried a whiff of credibility,…
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POW! WHACK! The Circus Returns to Town
On this day in 1966, the campy spectacle of Batman made its debut on American television. Adam West donned the cape, Burt Ward chirped as Robin, and Cesar Romero refused to shave his moustache to play the Joker. Although by the time it hit British screens, I was too old, but I remember it well.…
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Bilsdale and the Curious Journey of Road Salt
Another thrilling morning on the North York Moors. Freezing temperatures, frost blanketing the valley, and snow still stubbornly clinging to the high ground. How enchanting. This is a view of Bilsdale from Hasty Bank. For days now, the gritters have been tirelessly scattering salt as if the very fate of civilisation depends on it. It…
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The Hag-Mare’s No-Show: A Snowbound Trudge Across Urra Moor
A circuit of Urra Moor—Orrah, as it was once called before the Ordnance Survey decided to tidy up. The moor was generously blanketed in snow, looking superb The witch that supposedly roams this moor as a horse—the illustrious “hag-mare of Orrah”—was nowhere to be seen. A shame, really; she would have made an interesting subject…
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Sliding into Oblivion: Adventures in Cliff Rigg Quarry
Ah, Twelfth Night at last—perhaps now we can be rid of those garish Christmas lights for another ten months, though no doubt someone will cling to their festive cheer until next month. After all the news programmes whipped themselves into a frenzy last might over the impending snowstorm and freezing rain, waking up here in…
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William Mudd: Lichens, Legacy, and a Whiff of Whisky
There I was, trudging along the escarpment of Great Ayton Moor this morning, mulling over what I might post about today, when a patched-up bit of dry-stone wall caught my eye. Naturally, my thoughts turned to how many times one can repair a wall before it ceases to be the original. Yes, I am aware…
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The Beck, the Inn, and the Blizzard: Histories of Slape Stones
I quite like this photo. It captures the sweeping valley of Slape Stones Beck, leading—predictably enough—to the hamlet of Slape Stones. The scene positively drips with tranquillity, and after the boisterous festive season perhaps a reminder to pause and simply be. How very profound. The name Slape Stones, unlike the beck, has fallen out of…
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An Unofficial Path Gets Official Attention
Ah, one for the history books. Last year, the main path up Roseberry’s eastern flank was given a facelift, and now it is this desire path’s turn. The one by the fence that skirts the hill’s south-east side, linking the Cleveland Way with the Folly Field. The upgrade might happen this year, or perhaps next—what…
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Temperature Inversions and Timetable Errors
A glorious morning on the hills south of Guisborough, the so-called top of Belmangate. While the town wallowed in cold and damp misery, those above the temperature inversion were treated to the breathtaking sight of Eston Nab and Airy Hill rising like islands from the clouds, with a diffused Brocken spectre thrown in for good…