Walking the Yorkshire Moors (Part 2)

On the magic of public footpaths.

If you're new around here, check out Walking the Yorkshire Moors (Part 1)

Aislaby to Robin Hood's Bay

A hot shower, hearty meal, and good sleep can do wonders for the soul. After the terrible weather the day before, the mood (at least mine) was admittedly a bit grim. But it was a new day! I had accepted that the blisters wreaking havoc on my feet were an entry fee to the old ways of walking, and I was okay with that. Plus, they were in better shape and the pain was bearable.

I went downstairs to the pub for another warm breakfast and to prep the gear. Fortunately, our shoes were dry - a big thanks to the publican who let us leave our smelly shoes by the fire overnight. We had a short 8.3 miles to Robin Hood's Bay, and the forecast was clear. It seemed like it was going to be a good day.

In many ways, it was a transitional day for us, leaving the inland moors for the coast. We made our own route by combining a handful of different trails, so some felt more like "connector" footpaths that weren't as well trodden. We walked through neighborhoods, forged through thickets of brambles, and crossed long stretches of muddy, grassy pasture. All technically footpaths, but ones long forgotten.

It was still beautiful, no doubt. The fact that these kinds of public footpaths are so readily available that we could connect all these trails is special. It's a cheat code, really. This type of publicly accessible walking is something that those of us in the US can only dream of. We have gorgeous national and state parks, but this is different than backcountry backpacking in the Pacific Northwest. In this type of village-to-village walking, civilization never felt far - one minute we were passing through sheep fields and the next crossing train tracks.

There are many historical, cultural, and political factors that contribute to the differences in how the U.S. and U.K. approach nature and public outdoor access. And yet it hints at two distinct philosophies. In the U.S., we’ve established these incredible national parks and protected areas, but in doing so it creates this sense of nature as something “other” - to be visited and revered, but not necessarily integrated into our daily experience. During these walks in England, I felt immersed in nature and civilization. Rolling farmland became villages, which bled into moors, and on the other side, another village. All connected by a network of trails and footpaths across both public and private land. That last bit is key - even on private land. If I dared to walk through private land in route to public land in the U.S. - let’s just say that wouldn’t end well for me.

I'm not asserting that one is necessarily better, but you have to wonder how those differences imprint on us over time? How does it alter our relationship with the environment and each other?

Mile by mile, we gradually left the countryside and reached the coast. By mid-afternoon, we arrived at Robin Hood's Bay (RHB), with time to explore the town. Usually, RHB is the final stop for Wainwright Coast to Coast walkers. For us, it marked a halfway point and a transition from the bucolic farmland to coastal vistas.

The town was busy with day trippers and hikers finishing their Coast to Coast journey. In front of our inn, The Grosvenor Hotel, men were unloading a van filled with other walkers' luggage. I gathered most people use a luggage transfer service for their big items and carry a small day pack. It's worth considering if you're interested in this type of trip but aren't convinced about carrying 30 lbs on your back for 192 miles.

The town is quaint enough to spend a few hours wandering, finding small nooks, and getting lunch at the Fish Box. Eventually though, all roads lead back to the pub. Walking past the Laurel Inn, we peered through the windows and the warm conviviality was too inviting to pass up.

The pub was small, maybe five tables and a handful of seats at the bar. In a good pub, everyone is your friend. Tables are shared and empty seats aren't coveted. Even as an outsider, people will eagerly make space and invite you over. The Laurel Inn was no exception.

We made friends with an Englishman whose dog was seeking treats and attention under the small pub table. He was from Leeds but on holiday in RHB. After we told him about our trip thus far and what we have left, he offered, "Tomorrow looks good, but it's a real shame about Thursday, isn't it?"

We exchanged nervous chuckles. What about Thursday? We'd been taking the weather day by day because it's too dynamic and changes by the hour. All things considered the weather gods were kind up until that point, but when a local says something like that, you know you're in for it.

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Robin Hood's Bay to Staithes

The next morning started early and, sadly, with another protein bar breakfast. It was 20 miles to Staithes, so no time for the pub's warm breakfast.

From here on out, we were on The Cleveland Way, a well-established national trail of England. I was sad to leave the quaint public footpaths from the last few days. There was something romantic and whimsical about the inland route and its country pubs. The Yorkshire Moors’ geography was unique, and though I knew the coastline would be beautiful, I felt I was losing something. It also meant we were officially more than halfway through our journey, which was a sobering thought.

But when the morning light hit the coastline, that thought was quickly forgotten.

We walked with farmland on our left and coastline on our right. There were minor elevation gains and a beach walk, but it was mostly an easy day.

One of the great features of this type of travel was the minimal phone usage. After breakfast each morning, the phone went on airplane mode and was tucked away while we walked. At night, we'd only connect for a few minutes to check the route and weather for the next day. Though I wouldn't say I'm addicted to my phone, its absence was liberating. For five days, I knew nothing but the ground in front of me and the company around me. The walk felt like a protest, a way to distance ourselves from the marauding attention raiders in our pockets.

The well-marked and groomed trail made for our fastest pace yet. We reached Staithes around 4 pm. It was smaller than RHB, and most shops were already closing. So another pub, perhaps? Why yes, yes of course. First Captain Cook Inn, then The Royal George Hotel, and finally the Cod & Lobster for dinner. The cask ale was flowing and the glasses were clanking.

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Staithes to Saltburn-by-the-Sea

On our final morning, as the man from Robin Hood's Bay predicted, we woke up to a deluge.

We wanted to persevere. We'd lost too many miles to give up, so we tried to wait out the storm. We had a leisurely breakfast with extra rounds of coffee, hoping for a break in the rain. No luck. Then we wandered down to a tea shop and the Staithes Museum. Still, the rain kept coming.

Eventually, we had to call it. Defeated, we took the bus to our final stop, Saltburn-by-the-Sea. It felt like an underwhelming end to our journey, but sometimes you have to accept the situation. It proved to be the right decision, though, as the rain and wind was relentless throughout the day and night. Everyone we met in Saltburn commented on the unusually bad weather for this time of year - validation, I guess?

The only, only possible thing we could do was console ourselves in a pub. The pub led to a wine bar. The wine bar led to the most gloriously greasy fish and chips. Which of course led to another pub.

The next morning, the rain stopped but the wind was even stronger. At one lookout, you could see what would usually be waterfalls, but the wind pushed the water up the cliff. As I was taking a picture, an older man, who was dressed in a suit and operating the nearby funicular, came over and said, “Quite a sight, eh? That’s what they call a water up!” and gave a proud chuckle. That it is, my friend, that it is.

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What was supposed to be 6 days and 90 miles of walking ended up being 4 days and about 50 miles. Not the long haul we hoped for, but still one to be proud of. I loved the ascetic simplicity of it all. After a few days, you can’t help but be overcome with a youthful naivety. You think the world is complicated but living, living can be simple - walk, eat, drink, and commune with friends. How do we keep fucking this up?