The New Lyke Wake Club

Suitably Gothic…

Time leaving Cod Beck: 6.15am

Time of arrival at Ravenscar: 6.44pm

Time walking: 12hrs 16 minutes

I left Cod Beck at 6.15am in thick mist, which was forecast to lift around 9am. Having grown up with many uncles who had ‘crossed over’ in their youth, I was very excited to be finally experiencing it for myself and looked forward to the sunny day and last of the heather that was to come. As you can see from the pictures, that was sadly not to be the case for the majority of the day. The mist lifted for around three hours from the start of the boggy section but returned again whilst I was walking over Fylingdales and only grew thicker for the rest of the crossing. 

The Lion was open with a roaring fire and I was glad I’d had the foresight to take a travel mug for tea, as I have a feeling if I’d sat down in there I wouldn’t have left! 

I saw several bedraggled looking D of E candidates on the old railway path but not another sorry soul on the second half of the journey. 

Despite the less than balmy conditions and the lingering demise of a big toenail, I enjoyed myself immensely and I foresee more crossings in the future! 

Diary of an Accidental Dirger: Danny Tyler

A quick note to say the following – beautifully worded – report contains some “colourful” language (Tom/ New LWC)

Diary of an Accidental Dirger

Slammed Suzuki door, can’t take this no more,
Left the Mrs, didn’t turn round.
No kiss as I went, who knows what that meant,
Speeds off with a rattling sound.

It’s half ten at night, the start of our plight,
For us few, heroes among men.
Ukraine taxi guy, magic bus could fly,
Those road marks for losers then?

Arrived in one piece, seat belt quick release,
Disembarked, arse end of nowhere.
A dull ache inside, bright head torch to guide,
We’re off, high spirits, don’t care.

Steady mooch through ‘t woods, like Frodo and buds,
A quest, with no fucking gold ring.
Stroll over too soon, moors lit by full moon,
Lone curlew trying to sing.

Low valleys high peaks, sweat drips down red cheeks,
Jacket’s off, tied tight around waist.
Stone steps the way through, drain troughs out of ‘t blue,
Lungs burning, travel in haste.

First checkpoint draws near, it’s freezing up here,
Who’s idea, was this anyway?
Snood hat gloves wrapped up, re-fuel water sup,
What, am I doing? Can’t say.

Five mile I’m dying, could quit no lying,
Nice view, should I throw myself off?
The thought of ‘t son’s face, straight back in the race,
Restart, breathing smoker’s cough.

Next mountain terrain, giant rocks knee pain,
Ankle busters, better watch out.
Trek up is a farce, down’s a pain in ‘t arse,
Flat’s still a bastard no doubt.

Lose the troops at last, Strangers let me passed,
Look the same, like ghosts in the night.
This is a mistake, a turd on slow bake,
Not shitting, in a bush, right!

Too warm in this coat, start feeling part goat,
Meet the boys, all eating some snap.
Quick banana snack, re-stretch out my back,
Hit the road, fancy a nap.

I’m done so fuck this, nature takes the piss,
Beautiful, also cruel harsh bitch.
Phone battery goes, died flat as my toes,
Kill me, leave laid in a ditch.

But around sunrise, those Romans so wise,
Kindly, left a road for poor folk.
So from legs failing, right to smooth sailing,
A closed pub, half way, no joke.

Returned to the test, after a short rest,
Few pints, with crisps would have been nice.
New clean socks I’ve found, sun-cream spread around,
Used ‘t tap, went for a piss twice.

Wow is that tarmac? Heaven sent then back,
Into scrub, how far? We’ll go see.
Squashed adder dead crow, stinks just so you know,
Pocket, nice little trophy.

As if a switch flicked, Earth’s fingers snap clicked,
Swampland marshes, shite underfoot.
Ankle deep wet peat, Snatch shoes off both feet,
Soaked, to ‘t bone, stuck in a rut.

Jump pole vault over, proper wild rover,
Dead sheep like, woollen landing pads.
Legs caked in black mud, go home if I could,
No chance in front of the lads.

When out of a dream, come across a stream,
Quick soak, an order of the day.
Freezer bags in Nikes, hate charity hikes,
Once again, we’re on our way.

Guess what? It’s a hill, swallowed bitter pill,
Sharp gravel, can feel one ‘n all.
Crossing railway line, big Fylingdales sign,
Through heather, heard lapwings call.

Gym trainers in bits, one guy’s got the shits,
Sore arse, run shorts stuck up my crack,
Ruck sack weighs a tonne, arms burned by the sun,
Shoulders hang low on bent back.

Small river head dip, drown if I lost grip,
Last break, then onto a high spot.
Holy shit at last, It’s Ravenscar Mast,
Quick step, everything, we’ve got.

Stiff legs blisters popped, not one of us stopped,
Calves and thighs, have been brushed with fire.
Team morale improves, each in our own grooves,
Just shows, God loves a trier.

We’re home past white stone, Brothers not alone,
Smashed up, only sixteen hours dead.
It’s calm peaceful now, feels alright somehow,
Quiet voice, inside of head.

They’re there smiling wide, sat waiting outside,
Raven Hall, see ten tough gadges.
Strut into posh bar, for ‘t best bit by far,
Collect, black coffin badges.

So what to expect, was I incorrect,
Leaving, when everything’s a mess?
Do I want all this? Would anyone miss,
Me, if I went? Answer’s yes.