NEW LYKE WAKE CLUB

Date: 26 July 2023

Dirger: Rob Hadley (solo)

Time: Dawn to dusk, 16 Hours.

Start: Start Marker at Cod Beck

End: Mast near Ravenscar

I did the crossing several times in my teens and miserably failed the last time so wanted to challenge myself to see if I am still able to do it.

Tip toed out of the house and started just after daybreak at 05:00. Pleased to find the Cleveland way such a good path and seeing the sun coming over Live Moor made a good start. Quickly got into the pace of the hills and valleys on that section but ended up on the wrong side of the Wain Stones so had to fight through head hight bracken with loose rocks underneath. Relieved to get onto the flat rail line and onto the Red Lion for a quick burger. I realised I was almost half way, not really suffering (yet) and the weather was being kind to me so still looking good. Stuck to the road around Rosedale head and then headed off across the moor when things began to get difficult. Very boggy – ended up knee deep in water and fell over before I realised staying to the route was bad so had to deviate and look for paths previous wiser adventurers had used. I was stopped by a French couple at the road by Grouse Butts to ask where the Man in the Bog stone was, but I was of no help. However, later realised they were talking about the Blue Man-i’-th-Moss standing stone. By the time I got to Wheeldate Plantation things were improving so had a rest, food and change of socks. I knew seeing the radar station was deceptive but seems soon I crossing Eller Beck and started to climb Fylingdales. It was about here the drizzle started but too near the end to worry about that but put on my coat. I was surprised to get a glimpse of Scarborough Castle and then knew completing this was now possible. As I dropped into Jugger Howe Beck I made my call to get picked up. That beck Is a real gotcha at the end, but I used the last of my reserves and glad to cross the A171 to get the first views of the mast. Slogged up the Howdale in a vain attempt to get to the car park before my support team arrived – thanks to my bother-in-law to picking me up at the end.

Conclusion, I am now probably fitter then when I was 16 but maybe that’s being retired and having time to practise beforehand.

Rob…

Dear Sir/Madam,

I regret to inform you of my successful completion of the Lyke Wake Walk on Saturday 8th July 2023. This sad event was a West to East crossing beginning at 3.50am, as day broke above. It was a solitary crossing as I have no mates daft enough to join me. I was supported at several points by my baffled teenage son and his father, who at least provided nourishment in the form of milky ways and miniature pork pies. I am grateful to them for their assistance.

Likewise to the friendly people involved in a running challenge on the same route, who were kind enough to offer me water at Clay Bank. The wind on the first ten miles was blowing a hooley, enough to try and knock me over a few times. Beautiful views over Teesside as the sun rose.

The sun did its shiny thing until after the Lion Inn, when the rain came and soaked me so thoroughly to ensure all garments were claggy and uncomfortable. There was a moment of pure disorientation a few yards after Blue Man i’ th’ Moss, when in heavy rain I lost the path and wandered in a circle, wondering which new forest had suddenly sprouted ahead of me.

Crows gathered, speculatively eyeing my disheveled form. I gave myself a sharp slap about the chops to regain my wits, and found the path, ploughing on through the rain to the Stape road, where coffee and ultra processed vittals gave me energy. I then moved swiftly down through bracken taller than me, (Not hard, I’m pretty short) to Wheeldale Beck. A rock -bound toad tried blocking my passage over the stepping stones, muttering a few curses at me as I passed. I ignored him. A haul up to Simon Howe felt hard work. Then a bit of a stumble jog down to Fen Bog.

The burst of relative speed due to half remembered ghost stories my late father used to tell us about the moors at night. Fear is a great motivator as the day creeps to a close, and you’re the last person out on the moors. Over Lilla Cross, where one day I hope my earthly remains will be spread. No adders down towards Jugger Howe, but miniature pterodactyls, judging by the bites on my legs, who found me so tasty despite the jungle spray applied at Eller Beck.

Over to the mast, post sunset, as the last light drained away, reaching it at 10pm, jog stumbling the last mile up. I will forever treasure the memory of this doleful undertaking, and I can’t wait to do it all again. Please can I be a witch now? Many thanks, Janine Price