Supermodels in Yorkshire’s Heather

I’m resisting the temptation to use these early blogs to bore you with information about me and my photography.  My profile, @FootstepsFoto and https://www.facebook.com/FootstepsFotography will provide you with plenty on all that stuff.  The blog is more conducive for imparting knowledge of where to go, little photography tips and relaying tales of adventure, characters, local history and general musings.

You’ll quickly pick up on my desire to get away from the madding crowd.  I’m not conceited enough to think that my blog will be so widely read that presently unheralded places will become immediate honey traps –all the same keep them between just you and I ok…?

The North Yorks Moors National Park, http://www.northyorkmoors.org.uk/, is one such gem, located east of the A1 around the Whitby and Scarborough area.  The proximity of those resorts means plenty of people whiz along the A-roads that border the Park to the north and south.  But if you use your indicator before reaching the coast then a treat awaits.

The best time to visit the North Yorks Moors is late August when the stark moorland bursts into a mass of pink and purple as the glorious heather blooms bright against big skies.  A splendid feature of the Park is the many high moorland roads linking isolated and charming villages.  These vital arteries mean you don’t need to walk for miles to find solitude and to appreciate the moorland beauty.  The Moorsbus services also provide lots of routes in the summer that crisis cross the Park and will drop you off at footpath junctions, car parks, pubs and villages on request.  Most villages have a little chalk board with times listed, [http://www.northyorkmoors.org.uk/moorsbus/].  So there’s no excuse for not exploring the hidden depths and heights.



The Hole of Horcum in 2008

I first visited The North Yorks Moors back in August 2008 and visited the Hole of Horcum and the sea cliffs around Robin Hood’s Bay.  This was in the early days of my growing interest in photography, as the quality of the shot above The Hole of Horcum shows.

The Hole of Horcum is 400 feet deep and was allegedly made by a Saxon giant called Wade, who scooped out of the earth to throw it at his nagging wife.  Or was it created by boring old and slow geology?  Make up your own mind, either way a grand 5-mile walk from Levisham takes you through the Hole and back over the moors - making a grand half-day out.

Upper Rosedale from The Ironstone Railway

My latest visit to the area was just last week and centred on Ryedale and the lovely village of Rosedale Abbey.  If you’re going to Rosedale for the abbey you will be disappointed as it has gone without trace, well its stone is probably in every building in the village– don’t blame me take it up with Henry VIII.   It also boasts to be home to Yorkshire’s favourite pub, The White Horse Farm Inn.  It’s more of a gastro-pub than a beer drinking haven although they serve a descent pint, pleasant enough if you like that sort of thing – my favoured pubs will feature here at some point.  Above Rosedale you will find the Ironstone Railway, or to be more accurate it’s track bed.  It once formed part of an extensive moorland railway or tramway network linking the iron mines to the outer world.  The mines are still evident in these parts and enhance the landscape and its atmosphere.  The railway now provides a superb flat snaking high level route above Rosedale with views into the dale and over to early warning station at Fylingdales.

View North from The Wain Stones

At the northern edge of the North Yorks Moors is the wonderful Cleveland escarpment.  A well maintained and clear path take you from Clay Bank car park on the B1257 over 3 distinct summits – The Wain Stones, Cold Moor and Cringle Moor – with marvellous views over Teesside and the distant Yorkshire Dales and North Pennines.  The Wain Stones is a superb place for photos using the rocks as foreground interest on wide landscape shots.  The viewpoint on Cringle Moor is a lovely spot for lunch and it was here that I bumped into 2 young women, still in their teens and with the looks of supermodels.  Always keen to have a chat I discovered they had just taken up walking and over lunch they picked my brains to find my favourite walks and tips about clothing and equipment.  Can’t recall the last time a teenager asked my advice on clothing – never is the answer if you’re curious.  Hopefully my advice fuelled their interest long into the future.  So if you do come across two supermodels on the summit of Black Fell near Hawkshead you have me to thank…

Cringle Moor: beware of supermodels

Anyway, back to the walk… as you descend Cringle Moor to the west a bridleway going off to the right brings you back under the escarpment through the heather, skirting the pine forests and back to Clay Bank.  In all about 7 miles with several easy climbs over a leisurely 3-4 hours, the bit along the forest can be a bit soggy.  If you get to the car park and the weather isn’t great do the walk in reverse and with luck when you get to the best photo opportunities the light will be better.

So next time you’re bombing up the A1 and decide to go to Whitby and fight the crowds queuing for fish n chips and staggering up the 199 steps to the Abbey think again.  Venture into the moors and dales instead, go in August and you’re sure to leave with a sprig of heather in your radiator and a warm heart with a promise to return.

 

NEXT TIME:  South Pennines: Packhorse Trails and Canals

 

The Beginning

Welcome!  I’ve finally decided to take the plunge and enter the blogosphere…!  I've hesitated as once thought they were an ego-boost for celebs and board Chief Execs trying to “stay-in touch”, but a good friend of mine - http://colpeakbagger.blogspot.co.uk – has convinced me otherwise.  So here goes nothing… I'll try not to be too similiar Mr W...!

My name is Colin Greenwood – well it would rude not to introduce myself.  That was easy, but shock horror, I now need to define myself… or do I?   At this stage I suspect all you need to know is this.  If a day involves walking boots, my camera, a few beers and bumping into interesting people with tales to tell then Lou Reed can start flexing his tonsils on his signature tune… http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QYEC4TZsy-Y.  The rest will all come clear as the blog develops.

So where to begin musing?  Well for once I guess the beginning is as good a place as any.

June 2008 and I’m seeing the light after a troubled period of my life and lying in bed one Saturday morning with a mild hangover.  Whilst piecing together the night before I recall a conversation over a pint about my desire to visit Cornwall, having not given the county such courtesy at any time in my adult life.  With my renewed outlook on life and as the alcohol induced haze cleared I sprang from my bed and decided to go to Cornwall.  Not right then mind, work commitments meant that couldn't happen.  But 2 hours later trains and beds were booked and 2 weeks later I found myself in Cornwall.

Some context required now… back then my experience of solo travelling was limited to the odd night in a boring hotel on business and maybe a weekend in London.  In terms of walking, well I’d been on a sponsored walk at school, does a stroll to the pub count?  It’s 200 yards so probably not, oh but I did like maps – no doubt we will speak of this topic in future blogs.  And my camera was a Nikon Coolpix that I could barely turn on.

So I find myself in a cliff top car park just outside Padstow lacing up a brand new pair of walking boots - looking around Rick Stein’s empire and paying £8 for fish and chips was not my thing.  I didn’t have the local OS Map, in spite of my love.  But I had heard of The Bedruthan Steps, ok I fess up - I’d read about them in the Rough Guide to Cornwall.   Have I painted a picture of sufficient naivety and unpreparedness yet?  I did had proper walking boots and wasn’t wearing a football shirt, I wasn’t such a greenhorn.

Despite a strong south westerly clearing its throat I decided to head onto the coast path.  My bravado concluded that the likelihood of getting lost on a coast path must be limited, even without a map.   The next half mile was to change my life and open my eyes to the wonder and beauty of this glorious country.  As I strolled over a headland there out stretched before me was this rugged and wild array of undulating sea cliffs and plethora of outcrops of tortured rock being battered by the Atlantic Ocean at full tide.  The noise was feasting on my ear drums and the rain and salty sea spray was enhancing my experience of shear vulnerability, and despite being 15 minutes from the car, a great sense of isolation.

Looking out to sea always gives me that feeling of being so ridiculously small and insignificant against the power and scale of nature – it’s a reassuring feeling and one that imparts a respect for the world and its natural wonders.

I just sat on a rock watching in awe as the Ocean roared to the World, pounded rocks that had been pounded for eons and boiled white as the tide turned.  I finally dragged myself away and continued along the coast path.  Over the next 2 hours the weather calmed as the tide retreated and the sun appeared low in the evening sky.  The absence of a map meant at some point I had to turn around and retrace my steps.

On returning to Bedruthan Steps the contrast could hardly haved be greater.  The raging turmoil witnessed just hours earlier had become a calm oasis.  Could this be the same place?  The Atlantic was slowly and calmly retreating and revealed the deep golden sand: untouched by man.  The rock outcrops that looked most forbidding now rose silently out of the beach with the odd Gull perched prior to supper.  In no time at all the sun was setting in the red sky.

Probably for the first time in my life I truly appreciated the contrasting pictures of the beauty of nature: one of immense power the other of unrivalled serenity, and in the same place.  I was hooked I wanted to know what other delights this natural show could provide.

The day after I splashed out on a map and explored more paths on The Lizard, made footprints in virgin sand at Kynance Cove.  Just 2 weeks later I found myself on the summit of Ingleborough at 7am and was scouring Amazon for good walking books, during which the name Wainwright kept popping up?  He would play a major role in  the coming months and years.  My friends admired my photos from Cornwall and I went shopping for a camera. 

A new journey had begun, where would it lead?  Stay tuned, I promise not to tell of every footstep or photograph since 2008, in fact the next blog will hop to the present day.  Tales from the past will from time to time be weaved in, but as it should be the journey will be constantly looking forward.