Category: North York Moors
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Following the Green Dots: An Unclassified Road to Nowhere
Now that the summer’s undergrowth is finally abating, I thought it an opportune moment to exercise a rarely-trod right of way past Ayton Bank Farm. One likes to ensure that these landowners are periodically reminded of the existence of such rights, lest they grow complacent. According to the 1:25,000 O.S. Map, the route is marked…
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Hasty Bank and an Old Gatepost
Whenever I‘m Out & About, I rarely start out with any sort of plan. There might be a vague idea of a route, but more often than not, I just make it up as I go along. Some might call that reckless, others might deem it inconsiderate or just plain annoying, but I like to…
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A Monument to Ingenuity: The Story of Bransdale Mill
It is said that the waters of Hodge Beck have powered a water mill here in Bransdale since the 13th century. The current range of buildings, a veritable monument to early 19th-century ingenuity, was built in 1811 by William Strickland, a man with grand visions of increasing the mill’s capacity. To this end, he exuberantly…
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Kildale’s Wet Dig
And so the rains came to St. Hilda’s chapel, bringing a somewhat damp close to the archaeological dig season in picturesque Kildale. What mysteries lie behind those enigmatic stone footings — which bear more than a passing resemblance to a garden feature than to any sacred structure — must now remain hidden for yet another…
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From Hill to Hill: Chasing Leys Across the Moors
I have nearly finished a book recommended to me after a posting about an ancient trackway over the North York Moors. I found a copy of Alfred Watkins’ 1926 book on eBay—naturally, as one finds such treasures in this modern age of commerce. Watkins postulated the existence of ley lines, an idea that prehistoric sites…
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The Baysdale Barn That Time Forgot
Ah, the approach to the decaying edifice—otherwise known as a barn—familiar to anyone who has spent time wandering this remote part of Baysdale. Here I am, hurrying along a bridleway on the northern side of the dale, with the tantalising memory of veering off and subjecting myself to the rigours of climbing over into the…
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Like mother, like daughter
This morning on Ingleby Bank, under a welcome autumnal sun, I was watched with deep suspicion by a yow and her gimmer lamb. Moorland sheep, we are told, have been fixtures of the North York Moors for centuries, as essential to the scenery as wind and drizzle. With their woolly coats that protect them from…
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From Drainage to Divination: The Cheshire Stone’s Secrets
I recently stumbled upon the theory that a stone – the Cheshire, or perhaps the Cheddar Stone as some insist on calling it – perched on on the edge of Urra Moor, has a natural basin which has been carefully modified in prehistoric times by the addition of a notch to channel the water outflow…
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The Overlords of Kildale
Park Nab, a smallish sandstone crag, much favoured by the climbing fraternity, who no doubt delight in the view over Kildale—suggested by some to be the dale of a forgotten Viking named Killi. Perhaps he might be one of those unfortunate Norsemen discovered inconveniently buried under the church floor during the 1868 rebuild. Quite fitting…
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“Take Me To The Forest”
In a move that is sure to leave the squirrels bewildered, the National Portfolio Organisations‘ Wild Rumpus and Festival of Thrift have unveiled their grand plan to transform the tranquil forests of Guisborough into a festival of organised anarchy. They are calling it “Take Me To The Forest,” a spectacle destined to overwhelm the senses…