It was a damp and driech start at the Lyke Wake stone at 0530 where we unknowingly marched into the route.
Through the woods and along solid paths we were making light work of the walk.
Up and down, up and down famous and nameless howes and heads, the relentless Cleveland hills were starting to wear.
After reaching the summit of the moors over Urra, the railway plateau was welcome relief.
As the bark of grouse was growing to grate, the bog emerged.
Slow progress, we would have been far better on a quad bike like the sheep farmer staying away from the boggiest sections. Following the footsteps of antecedents we ploughed on through.
One last gift of daylight illuminated the moors in a fiery sepia sunset, sending us into the evening with a rainbow.
It was the Roman road for nightfall and the beacon of Fylingdales now fixed in our sights.
With the sound of the stream to guide us, we soon descended into the section of the walk formerly known as stepping stones.
Reluctantly preparing walking poles to steady ourselves across the river, we began to test the waters. After a couple of pilot plods into the flow, we soon discovered that the stones were knee deep under the torrent and we would have to scale the valley walls again and find an alternative route to Fylingdales.
Further flooding at Fylingdales made navigating the beck in the dark more challenging, as with every direction looking like the beck, no landmarks to follow, and no clear paths either, it was back to uphill tramping over heather.
Lilla Howe emerged into our torchlight and seeing the Whitby Road we knew we were on the home slog.
The final trudge into the darkness and rain had started to set in and the Ravenscar radio mast remained elusive, offering little to raise spirits. Suddenly, the otherworldly geometric iron outline of the mast appeared with 20m to the final stone, we knew we’d finished with this walk.
Back too late to have earned a pint, pizza on a pillow it was.
Crossing time 16h30
Mr White of Nottingham, and Mr Jeffrey of Bristol.