Grosmont to Whitby

Grosmont to Whitby 

This is a great walk but strenuous. 

The morning sky is on fire as we travel to Whitby to catch the 08:44 Middlesbrough train to Grosmont. The wind is strengthening although we’re not going to be on the moor tops for any lengthy period it’s obvious that the trees and any loose shed roofing are going to take a bashing. 

The train is right on time, and as it gently draws into the station, I’m reminded of childhood days. We would stand on the embankment on what we referred to as the ‘Low Line’ at Castle Hill, where I grew up. As the driver of our two-carriage train steps out to swap his token, it triggers many memories from my childhood, but there are more fertile seeds that germinate when we get to Grosmont.

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The journey to Grosmont is beautiful with a sunrise that would do justice to the Caribbean, and in less than fifteen minutes, we’re joining Paula for a ten miler, but not before another treat when I witness the “Whitby Enterprise” waking up quite literally. There are clouds of steam, smoke and noise, and the combination of that with the earlier stimulus on the Whitby platform combine to transport me back to childhood. 

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As children of the 1950s there was very little ‘health and safety’ and between meals we would be expected to be out playing. This was from the age of three and a bit onwards. By the time we were four we would leave the house after breakfast and explore our wonderful “playground” of puddly lane, fields, hedgerows, barns, woods and railway embankment. By the time we were seven or so the only thing that would call us back home was the designated mealtime or bedtime both of which were non-negotiable. 

The adventures outside were conducted in rain or shine, snow or hail. In fact the only time we were under “house arrest” was if it started thundering and lightening. The snow was always a welcome event and homemade sledges, hessian sugar bags and the odd car bonnet would be utilised for attempted suicide on the local slopes. The only time we became tired of snow was in the winter of 63 when it did go on a bit. 

Anyway, back to the tale. The driver is swapping the tokens to enable access to the track for the return trip and I’m thinking about the times we would stand as seven or eight year olds on the embankment near the old semaphore signal at Castle Hills crossing. As the engine came hissing and squealing to a halt with metal brakes on metal wheels on metal rails combining in a cacophony of sound that was far more intense than the actual gentle reduction in speed to a walking pace then an even more gentle stop. Sometimes the steam and smoke would precede the noise and I can still visualise the silhouette of the huge iron beast emerge from the cloud. Once stopped, we’d try to engage with the driver and, eventually, throw in the question that we’d wanted to ask throughout the conversation, “Can we stand on the footplate to the next signal mister?”

Now, you wouldn’t expect that we would get a positive response from anyone, but in 1958 just occasionally, we’d get a “Come on then” and we’d clamber up the steel steps on to the footplate and the fireman would open the firebox door for us to see and feel the intense heat that was responsible for his huge machine’s energy. The signal would suddenly be raised in a clunking shudder, and the driver would start to nudge the long regulator with an oily-rag-protected hand until we could hear the steam flood the maze of tubes and cylinders and the enormous machine would inch forward with an ironic elegance that you wouldn’t expect from such an ungainly beast. It would cover the next couple of hundred yards at a walking pace, but time passed in the blink of an eye, and then we were being lowered to the embankment where, once clear, there would be a wave from the oily rag of the driver together with a wave of the shovel from the fireman and they’d disappear along the track in a cloud of steam and smoke. 

This couldn’t happen nowadays, clearly, heads would roll, but in those idyllic times, on a lucky day, we’d get a ride that would match anything throughout the next seventy years. 

It’s funny what you think about when you’re on a platform with a beautiful beast doing her spectacular best to produce a scene in a visual, redolent and sonic spectacle.
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I join the girls at the public loo and take the opportunity of a strategic visit to avoid a wild wee on the way around.

The road out of Grosmont is beautiful, and if you do walk this route, please take your time to take in the Esk Bridge and the gorgeous, rocky race on either side.

We join the Esk Valley Way (EVW) and hear the sound of the wonderful whistle of the “Whitby Enterprise” as she couples up to the train ready to thrill the riders throughout the day – a beautiful blast from the past.

The EVW is easy to follow and leads us on a constant ‘up’ that takes us through Grosmont Farm and Fotherley’s Farm where fabulous views are worth the stop and in the spring the track between Dorsley and Cote Bank Woods is particularly beautiful. We walked this element earlier in the year and the smell of fresh growing vegetation and ferns is a delight. We’re in the midst of winter on this one so we’re rewarded by intricate root systems and evidence of some of the destruction from earlier storms.

At the top we have the option of carrying on the EVW skirting Dorsley Wood on our right or heading up to Haystones Manor with the woods on our left. Paula indicates a short row of cottages about five hundred feet above and about a mile away.

At Haystones Manor we turn left along the road to return to track walking about 300 feet (90m) along the road it’s all been ‘up’ to this point and will remain ‘up’ for another mile or so. The track is well signed past the farm and that helps both us and the farmer, it can be a bit fraught when you end up in someone’s stockyard if you should have been walking around the periphery.

We cross the road into Skelder Plantation and start following the track through the trees where we find an ideal stop for a banana break. Sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree with the wind broken by the other trees chatting to like-minded folks is definitely one of life’s treasures.

Fed, watered and “wild wee’d” we set off again. The track through the trees is easy but does have a few elements that are beyond muddy and mean that we’re placing our boots with the care of a soldier in a land mine field. 

The upside is that we’re now going down and whilst the mud is making life ‘interesting’ the vegetation and fallen trees are fascinating if only for the fact that their roots are so shallow in such fertile soil. We skirt an unusually big example that looks like it was the victim of one of the recent storms. We could have climbed through some of the broken branches but chose to take the route recently established by the ponies and horses that use this bridle path and get a close-up view of the intricate root system.

We pass the wireless stations and leave the wood to brace ourselves for the increasing wind.

We find another place that will afford nice views combined with a hedge that acts as a windbreak for us to enjoy the sandwiches that re-inject us with the energy to finish the walk.

Twenty minutes later and we’re on our way again past South Lodge and a hard right towards Heulagh Farm past its namesake cottage and over the Dunsley Road keeping Watt’s Wood on our right until we approach the Sewage Works then a hard right again and into the woods.

The track goes into a mini ravine and back out again. I memorise this as a place I’d like to visit in the spring. We make our way through Newholm and back into open fields where the track is well-defined around the peripheries.

We enter Whitby past Sneaton Castle which is seriously recommended by the ladies as they invite me through the gate to see its majestic Norman Chapel with rounded turret-like building. I’ve been going to Whitby for years and had no idea such a building was hiding behind those walls. This is one of the reasons I love walking. This kind of view is not likely to be had by the people passing in the cars and buses, I’ve spent sixty years just driving past. Magic!

Stakesby Vale is next and a welcome ‘down’ after some significant ‘ups’ during the first part of the walk. This track takes us through a mini-park and past a few allotments all of which are new to me as I haven’t explored this part of town. We pass Beevers Furniture and through the bridge carrying the Cinder Track.

On another day, if you’re feeling fresh, the Cinder Track can be accessed via some steps, and you can walk the twenty-odd miles to Scarborough along it.

Today is quite strenuous but worth it. I mention this because I haven’t walked as much over the last month and found it tough. The girls had not broken into a sweat (or should I call it a glow!), so if you are fit, don’t let my observation put you off. 

If you’re out of condition you may want to stick to the ‘Esk Valley Walk’ which still has a few ups and downs but isn’t as strenuous as this one – see map.

Enjoy the snaps.

Love G x