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UK trip part 14: Swainby to Clay Bank Top
Our bus took us to the edge of the North York Moors national park, where we met Mike, our local guide for the day, along with his dog who would be accompanying us. We started up on a forested path but soon came out on the heather-carpeted moor tops, where we could see for miles despite the cloudy day. In the distance we even make out the North Sea - finally, we were nearing the far edge of England!
Mike is a local fourth- or fifth-generation farmer who is also a strong advocate for alternate energy - he has installed a couple of wind turbines, and encourages other farmers to do so (and we could see many below us) - so he and Britt got along very well and spent a lot of time talking about energy policy and renewables.
He also told us about the area's history. It was once a major source of jet, a jewelry stone made from fossilized Araucaria wood; now the landowners make money from grouse hunts on the moors, with hunters paying ludicrous sums for one-day hunts. And, of course, there are the Coast-to-Coast hikers, and the Cleveland Way hikers - the pathway we were on (and actually, much of the rest of our route) was part of the Cleveland Way, a 109-mile trail along the north and east edges of the North York Moors National Park.
We had lunch along the edge overlooking the land to the north, then began walking on the very nicely 'paved' path. Here, by the way, is where we first encountered Genuine Typical English Weather. Fortunately it didn't last too long.
At about the 5 mile point, we had the option to continue on the 'high road' over three more hills, which would take us by a rock formation called the Wainstones; to use a lower and flatter trail, the 'middle way'; or to take the bus to whichever B&B or hotel we were staying in. I'm sure you can guess which Britt and I chose.
Something I haven't mentioned yet is that at the very start of this trip, Kathy the trip leader produced a small notebook and said that it was to be a group journal. Every day, a different person should write, or draw a cartoon, or otherwise commemorate the events of the day. Well, today was my day for it, and as I was already writing things up in my own notebook for myself, I decided I'd do something different and write a sonnet.
I put the final touches on my poem at the group dinner (a really delicious meal at the Jet Miner's Inn in Great Broughton, where we had the upstairs room to ourselves), and I'd drunk enough wine that when I was done, I showed it to Britt. He had drunk enough wine that he tapped on his glass for attention, then read it aloud to general applause. (I was proud and not too embarrassed!)
Through balsam and oak forest lined
With bluebells, still in bloom, we stride
Past hillsides where once jet was mined
(Or so we learn from Mike, our guide)
Then up to moor-tops thick with heather
Where we don clothes against the weather
Green fields are spread below our gaze
Where turbines spin and fat sheep graze
Three sub-groups form at end of day
The High Road hills, for some of us
While others choose to take the bus
And some stroll on the middle way
A lovely day to spend outdoors
Walking on the North York moors.
The pictures only, at Flickr
Mike is a local fourth- or fifth-generation farmer who is also a strong advocate for alternate energy - he has installed a couple of wind turbines, and encourages other farmers to do so (and we could see many below us) - so he and Britt got along very well and spent a lot of time talking about energy policy and renewables.
He also told us about the area's history. It was once a major source of jet, a jewelry stone made from fossilized Araucaria wood; now the landowners make money from grouse hunts on the moors, with hunters paying ludicrous sums for one-day hunts. And, of course, there are the Coast-to-Coast hikers, and the Cleveland Way hikers - the pathway we were on (and actually, much of the rest of our route) was part of the Cleveland Way, a 109-mile trail along the north and east edges of the North York Moors National Park.
We had lunch along the edge overlooking the land to the north, then began walking on the very nicely 'paved' path. Here, by the way, is where we first encountered Genuine Typical English Weather. Fortunately it didn't last too long.
At about the 5 mile point, we had the option to continue on the 'high road' over three more hills, which would take us by a rock formation called the Wainstones; to use a lower and flatter trail, the 'middle way'; or to take the bus to whichever B&B or hotel we were staying in. I'm sure you can guess which Britt and I chose.
Something I haven't mentioned yet is that at the very start of this trip, Kathy the trip leader produced a small notebook and said that it was to be a group journal. Every day, a different person should write, or draw a cartoon, or otherwise commemorate the events of the day. Well, today was my day for it, and as I was already writing things up in my own notebook for myself, I decided I'd do something different and write a sonnet.
I put the final touches on my poem at the group dinner (a really delicious meal at the Jet Miner's Inn in Great Broughton, where we had the upstairs room to ourselves), and I'd drunk enough wine that when I was done, I showed it to Britt. He had drunk enough wine that he tapped on his glass for attention, then read it aloud to general applause. (I was proud and not too embarrassed!)
Through balsam and oak forest lined
With bluebells, still in bloom, we stride
Past hillsides where once jet was mined
(Or so we learn from Mike, our guide)
Then up to moor-tops thick with heather
Where we don clothes against the weather
Green fields are spread below our gaze
Where turbines spin and fat sheep graze
Three sub-groups form at end of day
The High Road hills, for some of us
While others choose to take the bus
And some stroll on the middle way
A lovely day to spend outdoors
Walking on the North York moors.
The pictures only, at Flickr