The New Lyke Wake Club

Crossing Report Date: 16th August 2021

Crossing Report
Date: 16th August 2021
Runner: Jane Weatherill (solo, supported)
Checkpoint Support: Lee Weatherill
Time: 7hrs 56mins
My Yorkshire husband casually mentioned I should do the Lyke Wake Walk having made the crossing himself in his younger days (back then he probably did it bare foot over still forming glacial rock). I like running, I like crossing things, so why not! Here is my report.
Before looking at any maps, I thought I’d do a spot of research. Turns out this route had some history to it. It has a club, it has condolence cards, a book with a coffin on the front. It may just be that myths and legends are synonymous with the Lyke Wake Walk. This was not going to be the sort of journey where I nonchalantly hum away to myself, no; this was going to be one of contemplation and deep introversion…I was about to undertake a….well…undertaking.
Fast forward to the morning of the run, the weather was fitting enough, drizzly, a bit murky. Time for my solitary procession. Or so I thought.
Grouse! What splendid birds they are too. Springing out from every bit of heath, I wasn’t alone after all. The scenery was beautiful, naturally. Legs, they felt strong. I was very much enjoying this. Upon reaching the infamous Lion the weather still hadn’t really lifted, in fact it was a bit chilly. Coat on. Was this signalling the beginning of the ‘ordeal’ that I had foolishly disregarded?


Bogs! It was August so I was hoping they weren’t going to be too bad (they weren’t too bad). But they were there, mustn’t get complacent Jane. I could die out here after all. And maybe somewhere on Glaisdale Moor/Rosedale Moor the sun came out. I couldn’t be certain, the darkness was descending and the mania was taking hold. Where are you Blue Man I’ th’ Moss? Where are you Blue Man I’ th’ Moss? Where are….?
Laugh. Don’t laugh. Curse. Don’t curse.
Upon reaching Lilla Cross, amidst the purple haze, it was dawning on me what the Lyke Wake Walk was symbolising. From sorrow comes acceptance. Of rocks, that is.

Making my way up towards the mast at Ravenscar I was starting to realise my mind, my legs, and my soul had been scrambled. To anyone who embarks on this journey, I send you my deepest sympathies.
In memory of my father: JC